


The Daisy Chain

by HartwinMakethMan



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Redemption, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Drabble Collection, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ficlets, Gen, Give him love, HIV/AIDS, Hate Crimes, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Domestic Violence, blueprints for a larger fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:13:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 46,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartwinMakethMan/pseuds/HartwinMakethMan
Summary: A collection of my drabbles and headcanons that I've been spewing out on tumblr for a while. They go in a sequence, but they're only loosely connected-- when I finally write my giant Billy redemption fic these stories will all be in there as well. This was just more organized then my dubious tagging system for my writing on my blog.





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Summary basically says it all. If you like it, pop by my tumblr: aphroditestummyrolls.tumblr.com. And drop me a comment! Tell me what you liked! You guys keep me writing!

When Billy and Steve first started fucking, Steve had nearly no experience. He had kissed a boy at a summer camp once, when he was like, a little older than Dustin’s age, but that was it. Connor Davies had been a sweet boy. His eyes were so blue, and Steve's heart had been beating so fast. 

They were just kids exploring. 

But this wasn’t Connor Davies from Indianapolis. Billy Hargrove wasn’t looking for a peck on the lips, either. Man, Steve's heart raced, though. 

They were both drunk as shit— at some cheerleader’s house while her parents had fucked off to Europe or something— and Billy had his hands on him in the upstairs bathroom. His rough hands gripped at Steve's hips and he rocked forward with the coordination that only comes with shotgunning three beers and chugging three glasses of dubious punch. Billy wreaked of it-- of that and that nasty cologne and those nasty cigarettes. 

Billy Hargrove was a nasty boy, and he had Steve pressed up against the bathroom wall at some random winter break party. 

It wasn’t a threat, it wasn’t a warning. It was a fucking  _ come on _ , and Steve was  _ into it _ .

“If you were queer Harrington, I’d fucking  _ climb  _ you…” He was so drunk, slurring a little. The line of the blonde’s cock was pressed up against his tight jeans and Steve could feel it on his thigh.

He actually had Billy  _ fucking  _ Hargrove right there in front of him with his big hands on either side of him. He touched his face, clumsy with booze and weed, right where he'd broken his nose all those weeks ago, a flicker of something passing over his face that Steve blamed on the alcohol. 

Steve should still be mad, or at least afraid of that menacing grin, tongue flicking over his white teeth. His blue eyes burned as they traced Steve's jaw and throat. He felt like prey. Steve didn’t want to acknowledge that  _ maybe  _ he’d thought about this before. In the shower. Those long nights home alone. He didn’t want to say just how bad he wanted this. 

The air was still and hot, and the blood and alcohol coursing through his veins was chubbing up his own cock in his pants, making his whole body tingle with heat.

He thought about Connor Davies and the way his lips had felt on his– just soft enough, just rough enough, smelling like the water and the trees– and then he looked at Billy’s lips. Plump, pink, begging to be bitten and licked, and Steve was just drunk enough that he said it.

“What makes you think I’m  _ not  _ queer?”


	2. Emotions

Emotions are… tough for Steve and Billy to get a handle on.

When they first start sleeping together, there’s an unspoken rule that there are _ no feelings whatsoever _ involved.

Once they finally acknowledge that they are exclusive to each other, the admissions are awkward and stilted, when they happen at all.

After they’ve been together for a while, though, I actually headcanon Billy as being more emotionally open than Steve.

I mean, sure, Steve Harrington loves to make it known that that man is  _ his _ . He’ll spin him around and kiss him at the Byers house on Fridays, while babysitting the Party, even in the locker room after everyone is gone. But Steve is also a boy who grew up (to my mind) with vacant, if not blatantly neglectful, parents. He had little experience growing up with healthy emotional role models. Nancy Wheeler was his first Love, and while he showered her with affection, he lacked the ability to emotionally relate himself to her trauma. That might’ve been his first genuine relationship with another person, in which he cared beyond a superficial level.

And then, there’s Billy. Billy is a live wire— nothing but waves of raw, untapped emotions. Most of his life, those emotions had no way to translate themselves into anything but rage. In my headcanon, though, Billy did have a few emotional role models in his early adolescence. So, once he grows and changes and starts getting invested in the crazy life of Steve Harrington, those feelings that used to go straight to anger are suddenly more readily felt for what they are. Billy channels those feelings into actions. He’s the one who starts the important conversations. He says “I love you” first, he figures out what comfort Steve needs after a nightmare or panic attack, he makes Steve seek help for his anxiety— he even apologizes to Max and Lucas.

Steve is anxious, he’s not confrontational by nature. And after what happened with Nancy, he’s terrified of rejection. Even long after he and Billy get together. He’ll avoid the high risk conversations to avoid getting hurt.

Billy grew up in a world where he would probably get hit whether he spoke his mind or not. He’s angry, but he’s brave, and he would bite the bullet and say what he has to, even when he’s bracing himself for pain. He’s the essence of confrontation.

They don’t really learn how to talk about their emotions until Steve graduates. Until they’ve both had the time to accept that this is real, and this won’t be stolen from them. Until they have family to back them up and balance them out.


	3. Just Warming Up

The first few times Billy and Steve fuck around, Billy has to talk Steve through it— not a lot, just enough for him to get too cocky (hehe), thinking that he has a metaphorical leg up on The King of Hawkins High— and he fucking loves it. He loves that power and order. The control that Steve is giving him is a drug, and Billy can come in record time with Steve’s pretty lips stretched out around him.

Later though, when they’ve been doing this for a little while, when Steve has his own confidence to show for it, things change. Billy finds a whole new drug.

Steve Harrington is the King for a fucking reason, and it’s because he’s a  _ giver _ . He’s a giver, but he’s no pushover, and he presses Billy into the mattress and kisses him breathless. Billy was always a Ride ‘em Cowboy type of guy, but here was Steve, making him a  _ lover _ .

He kissed him, and Billy melted. He touched him, and Billy nearly swooned. He took his sweet time to spread Billy open, sinking his cock into him until he was crying and wriggling and pinned under the other boy’s weight— it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so worth it.

The only thing more addictive than owning King Steve in the sack, was letting him own you right back.


	4. Fridge Light

He had to close his eyes in the sudden outpouring of yellow light, squinting when he opened the fridge. The sweat started to dry, making his skin feel grimy and clammy.

Like the tunnels–

Nope. Steve shook his head at the flash of memory, the feeling of thick, frozen air. Being down there was like being under water. The ground gave under his feet like he was walking on… flesh. Like the ground was alive. It was so dark, his head had hurt so bad, the kids were in the hole above him, screaming for him. Screaming for Dustin.

If everything hadn’t lined up just as it did, what would have happened to that little twerp? What would have happened to Steve?

“Hey–”

Steve nearly jumped out of his goddamn skin, the fridgelight still pouring into the kitchen. It illuminated the room, including the blue gaze of the other boy in the threshold. Billy huffed a laugh that didn’t sound very amused, taking a couple slow steps toward him. He almost looked worried, but that must’ve been the light.

“Hey there, Pretty Boy.” The fridge was still open “You good?” Billy was right in front of him now, and Steve hated that he wanted to bury himself in the other boy’s chest– that wasn’t what they did. That wasn’t what had been happening here for the past couple months.

“I’m fine, I’m totally cool.” He fidgeted, chewing absently at his thumb.

Billy nodded slowly, like he was stupid. Maybe he was. “Yeah, I’d say you’re downright cold. You’re fucking shivering– no shirt, fridge open.” If Steve didn’t know what he was going to say before, he was really lost when Billy opened his mouth to speak again “You, uh, you havin’ more of those dreams?”

He felt like the floor had been ripped out, like there was no air in his lungs. Billy was staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wha-what, what are you talking about?” It was stupid, it even sounded stupid to him. Those blue eyes were staring right through him, though, like Billy fucking Hargrove knew everything.

“What the Hell happened to you, Harrington? You wake up in cold sweats, sometimes you fucking _scream_ , you’ve got some crazy, nail spiked bat, and–” Steve’s expression must have said something he couldn’t verbalize, because Billy barked out a harsh sound “Oh _come_ _on_ , you barely hid it! I nearly wiped out on the end of it sticking out from under your bed.”

Steve couldn’t say anything. Billy was looking expectantly at him, though, a look in his eyes that was unmistakably concern, now.

“What happened to you, Steve?” His voice was soft, the same way it was when he got carried away while they fucked, when Steve whimpered or gripped at Billy’s hips tighter. When they both forgot that this was _just_ _sex_.

“I can’t… I can’t say.” He finally forced out. He was trembling– when had he started shaking? There were warm arms around him then, and Billy was even closer, their bare chests pressed flush. Steve couldn’t hold back the little noise that rose from the back of his throat and he let Billy hold him.

The fridge was still open.

Neither of them cared.

Billy rocked gently, back and forth, almost like people did with babies, and Steve blurted out “I’m not a baby, Asshole..” before he could think.

Billy chuckled again then, and it sounded like he actually found something funny. It made Steve feel warm in a way he ignored. The fridge was open, he should definitely be cold.

“Coulda fooled me, Pretty Boy.” He whispered back.

Any retort that Steve might have scrounged up died on his lips when Billy started humming. It was a vaguely familiar melody that Steve couldn’t quite place, but his voice was rough and low and it vibrated around the room in such a calming fucking way. Maybe he was like a baby– if babies got this, he was fucking fine with it.

So, they stood there, swaying in the fridge light, a heavy feeling settling in the air around them. Billy smelled like cologne and cigarettes and something that was just him. It was like the California sun was embedded in his skin. Steve could sway with him like this forever.

“Harrington, whatever it is, it’s not too terrible for me. You can say it, I’m not… I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He squeezed Steve’s hips.

“I want to.. I just can’t. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.” He gripped him tighter, too, scared that he’d pull away, get mad, leave him cold and tired in the lonely yellow light.

But, he just sighed.

They were still swaying, Steve running his fingers lazily up and down Billy’s back while the other boy hummed that stupidly familiar tune.

“It’ll be light soon..” Steve mumbled. It hurt to think Billy had to go so soon– he just didn’t know if he could face this big, empty house alone. Not after another one of those dreams.

“I’ll put on a pot o’ joe.” He mumbled back “That sound good?”

“You, but.. you always leave before dawn…” He couldn’t wrap his brain around it, pulling back to look at the other boy. He raised a brow again.

“Maybe I don’ have anywhere to be, Harrington. You want me to go?”

“ _No_. I mean, no, please..” he cleared his throat “please stay?” It came out as a question, and Steve couldn’t stop blushing. Billy didn’t let go of him as he turned them both and shut the fridge door. They were plunged into darkness, but that wolf’s smile seemed to glow in the dark.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”


	5. The First Fight

It had been almost two months since he stumbled into bed with  _ The King _ . It was no strings attached—  _ really _ . Billy had applauded himself for just how little effect those big brown eyes had had on him over the past weeks.

He wasn’t invested in Steve Harrington at all beyond the absolute toe-curling pleasure he was able to provide. Honestly, he was expecting to be able to make fun of the guy for not living up to his rep as the best lay in school, but he hadn’t been prepared for just how right the rumors were. It was worth sneaking out for, even when Neil was home, a better drug than the adrenaline of a good fight, even. And if he had happened to start staying after those orgasms to chat and smoke a joint every once in a while, he could say that it was because Neil was out of town more.

He had more time to take his Pretty Boy apart, make him cry with the pleasure, teach him how to finger a man  _ just right _ . And then make sure he got at least a little sleep, calm the inevitable panic when he woke.

The arrangement was no strings attached. He had  _ no feelings _ for Steve Harrington.

They were coming down from another high that Billy could only think to call  _ luxurious _ . The afterglow of that release radiated through him, a sound pulled out of him like a purr. Steve chuckled, still squeezing his hips rhythmically for a moment before the touch turned into stroking across his tanned skin.

Everything was warm and slow, juxtaposed against the patter of freezing rain against the dark windows.

It felt right when he let Steve pull him into position against his chest. Billy tangled their legs together without thinking and listened to the other boy’s heartbeat slow down in his chest.

He wanted a cigarette after a while, but not as badly as he wanted to stay right where he was. Steve was running his fingers gently over the skin of his back and Billy was nearly dozing off on his chest when Steve broke the quiet. His words were as soft as his fingertips, but it didn’t make it less chilling when his touch hovered over that  _ one particular spo _ t.

“How did you get these scars?”

All the softness of the moment, the warmth in his veins, leeched out of him instantaneously. The fear from the memories of those few remaining marks sent rage bubbling up his throat.

“ _ What _ ?”

Oblivious as ever, Steve rubbed over the spot across his shoulder blades again, feeling the faint lines of healed skin there like he had any right to touch them.

“You’ve got scars right here— when I saw them in basketball, I thought that they were a trick of the light, they were so faint, but now I can feel them…”

Why did he have to ruin a perfectly good fucking thing? What gave  _ King Steve _ , with his huge house and his charmed fucking  _ life _ , the right to ask Billy about his past? Especially when this was the same asshole who woke up in tears, screaming his head off from nightmares he never explained. Steve wasn’t sharing, why should Billy?

Billy was up and sitting at the edge of the bed in one jerk of motion. He wasn’t going to turn around and punch Harrington— he wouldn’t do that again, but it was his first thought. It had been for so long.

Instead, he squeezed the edge of the mattress like he could rip the sheets apart. He took a deep breath, let it out slow, and his fingers twitched for a smoke.

“None of your business, Harrington.”

“Hey, hey— you don’t have to say, I didn’t mean to—“ he tried to backtrack, but the damage was done.

“ _ No _ , Harrington.” He made his voice as cold and quiet as he could, hoping it would scare Steve like it scared Max. It didn’t work anymore, though, and Billy flinched away when there was a hand brushing those damn marks again. He stood, whirling around to glare down at those big brown eyes. His heart clenched and he hated himself for letting this get this far. “Fuck you—“

This wasn’t no strings attached. He’d let himself get tangled in a web of Steve Harrington’s strings, tying his heart into this casual hookup. A thrill lanced through his veins, and he  _ hated _ it.

“I just wanted to—“

“Wanted to  _ what _ , Harrington?  _ Save _ me? Have some stupid fucking heart to heart and sweep me off my feet?” He let the rage burn in his words, each like their own punch.

Steve’s Pretty face was set in a frown, his eyes lighting up like he had something to say back, but Billy didn’t give him the chance.

“You think I’m crazy?” He asked, remembering the sound of his mother saying those words. She’d thrown the bottle at the wall, she hadn’t seen that Billy was there. Neil did, though, and he’d ground his son into the glass shards, holding him down while his mother screamed.

He could still hear her screaming in his head when the anger got too much, like a whistling teapot under pressure.

In a flurry, he tore around the stupidly preppy bedroom, pulling on his jeans and a shirt. His jacket on.  _ Goddamn _ , he needed a  _ smoke _ .

“King Steve and your fucking  _ ivory tower life _ — you want everyone to think you’re okay, as if you don’t have issues, too. Screaming and panicking, keeping that fucking  _ bat _ under your bed!? I’m not the crazy one here,  _ amigo _ .”

He didn’t even really know what he was saying anymore. He was overflowing, drowning Steve Harrington in bullshit jabs to hide the pain. He knew he was doing it, and he wished he could stop. He was ruining it, ruining the only good thing to happen to him since coming to Nowhere, Indiana.

“I’m sorry— hey, are you listening? I’m  _ sorry _ , just—“ Steve stumbled around the words, getting up with his hands in the air like Billy was some kind of animal.

The brunette didn’t look like he could think of any other words to say at all. His eyes were wide and sparkling with confusion and anger, his jaw was slack with shock. His lips were still raw and red where Billy had been nipping at them not an hour earlier.

“You want me to spill my guts to you, Pretty Boy? Make this mean something? Well, let me make this crystal fucking clear: you are  _ nothing _ but a  _ quick fuck _ .” He enunciated every syllable like Steve was an idiot, shoving past him on his way out the door and down the stairs.

He could hear Harrington behind him, but he didn’t look back. He probably couldn’t bear it, if he was honest with himself. He couldn’t see the pain those eyes, not without the guilt crushing him like a bug. Like a glass bottle burying its shards in a kid’s back.

It needed to end anyway, didn’t it? He was attached, he was actually  _ attached _ to Steve Harrington. And that couldn’t happen, not for Billy.

He sucked an inhale of smoke into his lungs and relished the burn of his throat in the cold, wet night. He walked back to his car and sat in the drivers seat, soaked to the bone. It wasn’t till he got there that he let the tears roll down his cheeks.


	6. The First Fight Part 2

Steve didn’t need Billy Hargrove for  _ anything _ . For all the shit that he had said that night, he had been right about one thing— it was just a quick fuck. It was nothing serious.

He pretended that it didn’t hurt when the hickeys from that last night together started to fade. Like a formal ending to whatever they had had (which was obviously nothing). It had been a week since it happened, and nothing felt right anymore.

The mysterious shapes of demodogs in the shadows of his empty house all seemed more real and terrifying than before, now that Steve was alone. He wasn’t sleeping, and when he did manage, it didn’t last. The nightmares, the panic when he woke up, it was all so much worse without that grouchy blonde in the bed beside him.

He looked like shit by the time that particular day rolled around. Even Tommy H had looked a little concerned, or maybe shocked, or  _ something _ at the sight of him dragging his feet into basketball practice.

Even Tommy H was laying off, but Billy didn’t. Billy fucking Hargrove was worse than ever. That whole week it had been shoulder checks and tripping him during practice and the goddamn  _ stares _ . It wasn’t like before, when he’d been watched by those blue eyes across classrooms and hallways and felt a tingle up his spine, when it was foreplay.

Now it was something different. There was a deep well of pain in those eyes, looking dark and foreboding. Steve didn’t put a lot of stock in his ability to read people—not after Nancy— but he could have sworn the other boy looked  _ conflicted _ . Sad, or lost, maybe.

It was fucking annoying.

After a whole week of the full Billy Hargrove treatment, Steve was at his wits end. The sleep deprivation, the stares, the shoving, and just the goddamn  _ stupidity _ of it all was too much. Steve didn’t even know what he’d done to deserve it— like, yeah, he knew, but he didn’t  _ know _ . There had been no discussion, no rationale. Billy had just yelled a lot, put on one of Steve’s shirts instead of his own in his haste, and slammed out the back door into the night.

By the time the team hit the showers that day after practice— after a particularly brutal game where Billy had taken it to a new level— Steve wasn’t just tired, or hurt, or annoyed. He was  _ mad _ — he was pissed as Hell, and he was gonna get his answers.

Steve still felt those eyes on him in the showers. It only stoked the fire in his belly, and he rinsed himself in record time. The feeling of that gaze followed him to his locker, and he took a long breath to try and keep himself from just slamming Hargrove into the lockers and demanding his answers.

He waited. Drying off and dressing himself slowly, and he realized that Billy was doing the same. Soon, it was just the two of them, the locker room abandoned for the weekend. Steve didn’t waste time.

There wasn’t a lot of strength left in his limbs, Steve was tired to his goddamn bones. So, when he shoved Billy into the bank of lockers, it wasn’t quite the clatter of metal that he was expecting. But, it made the blonde turn and snarl, and Steve guesses that he’d gotten what he wanted.

He had his attention now.

“Leave me alone.” was all he could manage to say in his sleepy, delayed mind. He put all his anger into it, hoping that it didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.  _ Either come home, or leave me alone— for good _ .

Billy looked almost hurt before his face twisted into that awful smirk, the stupid tongue thing, and that manic gleam in his eye. He shoved Steve back, right in the chest, and said “Leave you alone? But, it’s so fun to let you know who the  _ King _ is, Harrington.” His grin was hollow, and he looked him up and down before it fell off his face entirely. “You look like shit, Pretty Boy— get some fucking sleep.”

“You know I  _ can’t _ , Asshole!” His voice echoed in the tiled room “Let’s just call it what it is, Hargrove— you’re a fucking  _ coward _ . You  _ miss  _ me, Asshole. I know you do, and I’m so tired of your small town bully routine when you’re not fucking  _ like that _ !” He blurted it all out through a haze of sleep deprivation and Billy’s cologne “If you want to make yourself miserable, be my guest, but either come home or  _ leave me alone _ !”

The silence was deafening. Billy looked like he had just before he’d slammed Lucas Sinclair into a wall, he looked  _ murderous _ . And Steve felt something in him break, because he fucking  _ cared _ . He didn’t want to, but he did, and it sucked.

He was expecting a punch, but when Billy finally lifted his arms, it was only to shove at his shoulders where he’d been pinned to the lockers. Steve’s weak arms dropped with exhaustion and he stumbled back a step.

“Plant your goddamn feet Harrington, how many times…” he looked almost as tired as Steve in that moment. His blue eyes were full of that well of emotion again, maybe even a tear for that second, but he blinked and it was gone. “Consider me gone, King Steve.”

He had been expecting it, but watching him walk away still hurt like a bitch.


	7. The Rest Can Come Later (The First Fight Part 3)

There’re “no feelings” involved between him and Billy Hargrove. Really-- there weren't.

Keeping that in mind, Steve is a little more than confused when he answers the pebbles being thrown at his window and it’s not Dustin with some Upside Down business or something. It’s Billy fucking Hargrove, and at first he seems like his usual asshole self. But then, Steve– irritable and ignoring the pull in his gut that’s somehow still happy to see the other boy at ass o clock on a school night– goes downstairs and pulls the sliding back door open to say “ _What the fuck?_ ” And the words die on his lips.

Billy’s been crying. His eyes are red rimmed and glazed over in the bad lighting of the porch lamp. His knuckles are raw and busted open.  

“What the Hell happened?” comes out of his mouth before he can think about it. Billy shrugs.

“It’s fucking freezing out here, Harrington.” He mumbles instead of an answer, and he’s definitely trembling from something other than the cold.

Steve steps to the side like his feet are made of lead, gobsmacked by the sight of Billy Hargrove with his tail between his legs. He shuffles in, rubbing warmth back into his hands, clenching his jaw against the pain.

“Sit down before you fall down– coffee?” Steve collects his thoughts, trying to formulate some type of plan of attack with his sleepy, sluggish brain. Billy doesn’t reply, just grunts, but Steve needs some caffeine to deal with this strange, subdued version of the cocky blonde boy sitting under his kitchen lamp. He makes the coffee and waits for it to percolate, neither of them speaking. 

It should be awkward. Really, it should. But, the calm isn’t tense– it’s almost peaceful. Billy is  _relieved_ about something, Steve realizes after his first sip of too-hot coffee, and his chest tightens with some emotion he can’t place. 

Coffee is consumed in silence. Both of them pretend Billy’s hands aren’t shaking until their mugs are empty and Steve is a little more awake. 

“Are we not gonna talk about this then?” he breaks the quiet, sick of listening to the tick of the clock and Billy’s slowly calming breaths. 

The blonde shook his head slowly, and Steve was starting to fidget with nerves just watching the glazed over expression on Billy’s face. 

“Nope.” he popped the p, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

Asking nicely wasn’t going to work here– Steve didn’t know why he ever thought that that would work, and bit the inside of his cheek as he pondered his options here. 

In the end, it wasn’t that hard. 

He stood without ceremony, grabbing the blonde with a hand around his bicep and pulled him out of his kitchen chair. Billy snapped at him and tugged back from his hold, but Steve just gripped him tighter and pulled him up the stairs. If Billy really wanted out, they both knew he was strong enough to get away. But instead he was letting Steve do this, which made his heart clench with some twisted sort of pride. He was honored that Billy would trust him to take the reins.

“What the _fuck_ , Harrington?” Billy hissed when they came up to the bathroom, glaring daggers as the brunette sat him down on the rim of the tub. Steve busied himself with the small first aid kit under the sink in lieu of answering “Hey Asshole, I  _said_ – Ow  _fuck_ , Steve…” 

He pressed the antiseptic doused cotton more gently against Billy’s knuckles, even though he was glaring at him, jaw set and fucking pissed off. 

It wasn’t even at Billy, though. It was at whoever decided to scare him to the point of tears, ripped up his hands. He’d seen the bruises before. At first, Steve had written them off as some stupid fight he’d gotten himself into, God knows that’s something Billy’s good at. But, then something shifted and Steve had thought to ask. 

After that, Billy refused to even talk to him for longer than it took to push him to the ground in basketball. It took a week or two before he showed up back at Steve’s door. Steve didn’t ask again– but it wasn’t because he had missed that douchebag. He hadn’t missed him. 

Steve wasn’t letting go without an answer this time– rage built up and bubbled up his throat as he listened to Billy’s choked off noises of pain. He cleaned every cut and wrapped his knuckles with sure hands before demanding that the blonde take off his shirt and let him see the damage. 

If he had had the presence of mind to think about it, he would have been floored by the fact that Billy actually did it. No bitching or refusing, just a lost look in his teary blue eyes as he gingerly tugged his shirt over his head.

He was bruised to all Hell, and looked so small and young and afraid as he sat on the edge of Steve’s bathtub at 3 in the morning. 

Steve could hardly stand it. He never wanted to let Billy out of his sight again. He was actually getting _protective_. 

He let out a long, measured exhale through his nose and fidgeted with his lip. Billy wasn’t meeting his eyes, and Steve stepped into the other boy’s space without a thought, kneeling between his knees to force his gaze to lock on his. 

“Who did this, Billy?” he didn’t even recognize his own voice, all rough and low. 

He just shook his head, sneering in a half-assed way that only made Steve pity him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he was trembling again. 

“You don’t fucking care, Harrington.” 

“You know I do– why’d you come here if you thought I didn’t?” Steve bit out the words, coming up to cradle the blonde’s face in his hands on instinct. He surprised himself with the words– he _did_ care. Somewhere along the way he’d actually started to fucking care about Billy Hargrove and the bruises and the blood and the fucking  _tears_ were just too much to take. 

Billy didn’t move his hands away and he didn’t say a damn thing. He just looked at Steve with these big, tired eyes. Like he was exhausted by all the secrets that he kept. Maybe Steve could understand that.

The air was thick and neither of them knew what to say without sounding sappy or queer. Steve didn’t need to think, though, to know he had to do it. He pressed his lips softly to the other boy’s, so gentle and chaste, not looking to do anything more than comfort. It wasn’t some clash of teeth and tongue on their way to tearing up Steve’s sheets, it was just... something neither of them were even willing to _think_ about, let alone name. 

But Billy kissed him back, matching Steve’s softness but pressing in closer, needing to be close so desperately that he whined behind his teeth. 

Steve shushed him as they separated, but didn’t dare make eye contact when it was through. They rested their foreheads together like a real couple and Steve let his fingers sink into Billy’s curly hair.

“Um… you should stay tonight.” he finally risked breaking the silence. 

“’Kay.” Billy whispered, sounding hoarse. There were wet tracks down his cheeks, then, and Steve was swept back up in the protective need from before. 

It simmered under his skin until they were lying back under the covers of his bed, Billy awkwardly beside him but unwilling to touch. 

“From now on, you always come here when you need me. Okay? D’you hear me?” 

Billy just took his hand and squeezed with one of his bandaged ones. 

Steve pulled him close, and felt the blonde relax into his chest with a tiny, broken noise. He pressed his lips over and over again to the soft skin at the nape of Billy’s neck and let the boy tremble with the force of his tears in the relative privacy of having his back to Steve. 

That was okay with him. At least he was safe. The rest could come later.    


	8. Pancakes and Panic Attacks

Weeks passed. Billy came over nearly every weekend and weeknight when he could. He made some stupid claim about Steve being his favorite booty call, but Steve knew that was a front. It was because Steve couldn't sleep without him. The dreams had gotten so much worse. 

Steve woke up that feeling more tired than when he fell asleep, and his mood only got worse when he rolled over to find the other side of his rumpled bedsheets devoid of the warm body he’d had there before.

Billy must have left last night, after… after the dream. It wouldn’t surprise Steve if they had gotten too weird for him. It hurt more than he thought it would— after nearly a whole month of Billy Hargrove sleeping by his side as often as they could meet up, and after two months of this weird, not-so-casual thing they were doing, Billy was giving up.

The claw of disappointment was almost more embarrassing than painful. Steve should have seen this coming— it was all just bullshit. Fucking on the weekends, laughing at the stupid shit on TV, pretending to hate each other at school: Steve took a long, shaky breath and told himself it was just casual sex.

If Billy didn’t want him anymore, though, the insomnia might come back. The dreams had been getting worse, the panic attacks, and he wasn’t sure how he’d make through the nights without that blonde asshole to calm him back down. He hated being in this house all alone—

Stop. He needed to stop, this wouldn’t get Steve anything but another panic attack. He could already feel the tightness in his chest, and took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. It was just like Hopper had said about this “PTSD” shit: he could only take it a day at a time.

He needed to pee. And then make coffee. Maybe he’d eat something.

It was on his way out of the bathroom that he smelled it. It wasn’t smoke, it wasn’t the thick air of the Upside Down, it wasn’t blood.

It smelled like butter. Butter and coffee. Then he heard the clang of metal on metal— like his mom’s good set of pans— and a muttered curse.

Still wearing nothing but the worn sweatpants he had slipped on when he got out of bed, Steve crept down the stairs. His heart pounded with traitorous hope, but his fingers still itched for his bat. Steve chewed his cuticle, running his fingers nervously through his hair as he turned the corner into the kitchen, and his breath caught.

Billy Hargrove— Billy fucking Hargrove— was at the stove. He had a half smoked cigarette behind his ear and his blonde curls tied back haphazardly into a ponytail-bun type thing. He wore nothing but Steve’s boxer briefs, focusing on the sizzling pan on the burner like he was performing brain surgery.

“Billy.” Steve didn’t quite realize he had said the other boy’s name out loud, let alone that it was practically a sigh. Relief and annoyance and some warm feeling that he didn’t want to think about wrapped themselves around Steve, making his tension melt away.

The blonde looked up triumphantly after successfully flipping a pancake. He scanned his sharp blue eyes over Steve like he was checking him out, but this had happened enough that he knew better. Billy was making sure he was okay. It made him want to kiss him senseless, but he stayed rooted to the spot.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” He winked “What’re you staring at?”

“You’re still here…” his sleepy brain parsed out “You’re still here… and you’re making pancakes?”

Looking at him with a raised eyebrow and strange expression, Billy almost burned the pancake he was frying.

“Shit— Coffee’s on, Pretty Boy. You’re better off injecting it straight into your veins at this point.”

Steve shuffled over to the coffee maker, where a mug was already waiting for him. After one sip, he felt almost alive. But he didn’t dare speak again until after the mug was half drained. He leaned against the counter next to the other boy, and reached over, squeezing his stupid little bun-thing.

Billy chuckled at him “Can I help you, Harrington?”

“Cute, Hargrove.” He snickered, and Billy frowned at him.

“Oh, did you want hair in your fucking food, Harrington? I’m not some heathen— you gotta pull your hair back to make food.” He said it like it had been told to him too much to ever forget.

Steve rolled his eyes and laughed a little, squeezing Billy’s hair one more time (and getting slapped for his trouble) before letting the peaceful quiet envelope the room.

“Didn’t know you could cook.” Steve said, still feeling a little bleary and broken.

“I can cook pancakes, yeah.” He nodded “But not much else.”

Steve set down his mug and pushed away from the counter, wrapping his arms around Billy’s waist so his chest pressed against his warm back. Steve hummed, still tired as all Hell, and cuddled his nose into Billy’s neck.

They stayed like that until all the pancake batter was gone. Steve has all but fallen back to sleep with his body plastered to Billy’s, face buried in his hair.

“Up, up— Cmon sweetheart, eat something and you’ll feel better.” He was so different than Steve ever though Billy Hargrove could have been back when they met. He was goofy and rough and horny, still an asshole, but then there were times like these. He was tender.

The blonde boy all but carried him over to the table and Steve dropped into his chair like a lead weight.

“Jesus, Harrington.” He grumbled, shaking his head “You look like Hell.”

“Earlier I was Sleeping Beauty.” He deadpanned back at him, taking three pancakes with his fingers and dropping them on his plate. Billy looked like he wanted to call him a heathen again, but he didn’t.

They ate in silence for a while, and Steve realized that Billy was actually pretty good at pancakes.

Billy wanted to ask. Steve knew he did, but he fucking hoped that he wouldn’t. He was too tired to fight about this, and if Billy tried to talk about it again, Steve couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t let something slip.

“So,” He said, instead “Who taught you how to make pancakes?”

“My mom.” Billy replied, getting just a little defensive, the way he always did when it was about her.

Steve was going to backpedal, but stopped himself in his tracks when the other boy took his hand.

“You know I fucking worry about you.” He was looking right Steve, his eyes bright blue and serious “You know that, right?”

God, it fucking hurt. He finally understood at least a fragment of why Nancy wanted to tell about the Upside Down. He hated keeping Billy in the dark.

At least he was still here— at least Steve could still get some sleep. At least they had pancakes in the morning and each other at night. Even if they had to be a secret, even if they had secrets from each other.

This was casual. It was just sex. Right?


	9. Crash Course in Family

The group starts up “family dinners” every Friday night after the Gate is finally closed. Will and El both need structure and support, and their newfound family gives them weekly access to a whole crew of people that understand the actual events that they usually are forced to keep secret.

Steve gets roped in because of Dustin– he wasn’t going to go, it didn’t feel right. Even though he was sleeping maybe 3 hours a night from his own nightmares. Even though he was almost always eating dinner alone (or in stilted, awkward conversation with his oblivious parents)– he just wasn’t at home with the chaos of the Byers family dining room. 

At first, at least.

Dustin starts asking him for a ride out there every Friday. Joyce starts coming out to his car to invite him in every time. Steve knows it’s the kids’ little plan to get him inside, but he starts going with it. And somehow, despite Nancy and Jonathan sitting beside him and all the baggage that came with that, Steve becomes a part of the racket and banter of the group.

Having a family makes a lot of things easier. Sleeping at night and going about his day, applying himself in classes, looking forward to graduation– they all seem lighter when he’s not the only one carrying the load.

But keeping secrets is a lot harder when there is someone (several someones, including a bunch of intrepid 13 year olds, his ex girlfriend, and the chief of fucking police) looking out for you.

When Billy starts staying over and heated nights turn into long weekends together, and fucking with no feelings turns into murmured declarations of everything and nothing, family dinners on Fridays become a hell of a lot more stressful.

They all found out at once– not about Billy specifically, but about  _somebody_  in Steve’s life that he was bent on keeping a secret.

Families don’t like secrets, Steve learned, when El poked him in the neck and asked him who hurt him. And then Nancy, teasingly, said

“Steve Harrington, is that a  _hickey_?” She giggled.

Steve slapped a hand over his neck, cursing the stupid bastard. Billy liked to “mark his territory”, a phrase that made Steve equally offended and turned on. The hickey poking out from his collar was more like a full on bite mark.

The table erupted into titters and cries of “Why didn’t you tell us?”. Joyce told him to pick up the phone, invite her over– they’d all love to meet her. Hopper griped about needing to explain hickeys to El, who was still confused. In fact, the only kids that actually knew what the Hell a hickey was were Max and Mike.

And so began a new quest for the party: find out who Steve’s girlfriend was.

And a new source of high blood pressure for Steve: keep those dipshits from finding out he’s queer for Billy fucking Hargrove.

It becomes some kind of contest, seeing who will mess up first– talking to Dustin turns into some type of weird interrogation, Billy starts parking around the corner and walking through the woods to Steve’s back door. Max is smart, she’s catching on– Billy’s actually been  _nice_  lately, and Steve smiled so much more often, and they were talking while waiting for them to get out of AV club, and Billy was sneaking out at night– Max was smart. They both know she’ll blow their cover to her little “Party”. The tension was mounting.

As some means of escape, Steve finds himself washing dishes with Joyce at that week’s dinner.

She needles him a little about it, talking about his “partner” instead of “girl”, and Steve feels the world drop out from under him. Somehow, though, it’s relieving coming from her. She takes his sudsy hand and says that it’s okay, and that they would be there for  _both of them_ whenever they were ready.

“You bring him to dinner when you’re ready, Honey. You can tell us as much or as little as you want, okay?”

Maybe Steve cries, but it’s just the two of them, and he would never get such a genuine reaction from his own mom.

The end of his senior year is really just a crash course in the meaning of family, and Steve’s left reeling by most of it. It’s grounding, too, though. Having support was something he hadn’t known he needed until Joyce was giving his hand a squeeze in the sudsy water of the sink.

Telling everyone else isn’t perfect.

It’s the next week’s dinner, and the usual “who’s sexing up Steve?” question is making its rounds around the table. Joyce gives him a secretive little thumbs up like this is some kind of basketball game, and Steve’s throat seems to close off completely.

His voice is hoarse with it when he finally blurts out “It’s not a girl.”

The table goes silent, and everybody stares.

Hopper leaves, mumbling something about a smoke. Joyce looks about ready to murder him, but takes Steve’s hand across the table instead.

“Are you _shitting_ me?” Dustin says, but it sounds shocked, not disgusted. Steve still sniffles at the rough words.

Unable to speak, Steve just shakes his head, trying to burn a hole in the table with his stare.

“I’m….” Nancy is frowning, using the look she used to have while proofreading his stupid essays “um, I’m happy for you, Steve.” The smile’s a little forced, but she means it. He knows she does, and something loosens in his chest.

Everyone seems to sigh out an exhale simultaneously, and people start talking again. Steve fields a thousand questions about how he knew, who it is (he still doesn’t say but he and Max share some weird look that Steve only half understands), and why? There are a lot of whys.

Dustin seems a little hurt, and he asks why he didn’t tell him earlier about five times. Will and Jonathan are the only ones besides El and Joyce that smile like they’re one hundred percent happy for him. Mike and Lucas are confused, but say they support him. 

Steve guesses that it went pretty well, considering how it could have gone.

It takes the rest of dinner and all of cleaning the kitchen for the chief to come back in from the porch. He beelines for Steve, and part of him is itching to scramble away, to flinch, but he just grabs him with a rough hand around the back of his neck and holds his gaze fiercely.

“You be safe, okay Kid? It’s a big, messed up world out there.” and hugged him. Steve was tense against Hopper’s chest for a long moment before figuring out what was happening, and slumped into the guy’s embrace like he never would with his own dad. “Bring him to dinner next week, no excuses.”

He ruffled his hair–  _ruining_  it, thanks Hopper– and the whole night just went back to normal.

It was like a dream. Billy hardly believed it when he told him. He thinks it’s some kind of trap when Steve extends the dinner invite, and it ends in a screaming match.

Which, like most of their fights, is resolved by hours of sex instead of apologies. They do things their own way.

Eventually, Billy comes to dinner.

And it takes time. Dustin flips the fuck out, Steve needs to take him outside and talk him down. Lucas is wary, even though Billy apologized to him months ago. He and Nancy get along like oil and water, and Billy is constantly needling her, poking for a reaction, and that’s a pain in the ass. But, that’s Billy, and he’s the picture example for “pain in the ass” in Webster’s Dictionary. Dustin insists on that. 

Before they know it, Billy’s family too. 


	10. The Last Thing You'd Expect

When Steve first comes out to the Dinner Gang, not everyone gets it or is happy about it. Especially not Nancy Wheeler.

And I hate it, because I love Nancy. I really do, I think she’s a great character— but great characters have flaws. And I just can’t see her falling right in line with the whole “Steve likes men” thing, let alone once that becomes “Steve’s boyfriend is BILLY HARGROVE?”

She’s a logical person, and 1980’s logic in a Reagan-based home in Hawkins, Indiana is probably less inclusive of bisexuality. So she looked at Steve Harrington across the Byers dining room table after he spat out “ _Maybe it’s not a girl_.” And her mind just  _reels_.

The boy who was her first love, who she gave her virginity to, who was still one of her best friends— had she put him off of girls completely? Had he lied about loving her that whole time? How long had he known that he was… this way? She had been wracked with guilt and shame about Barb, about Jonathan, about the Upside Down, about breaking Steve Harrington’s heart. But, he was with  _some guy_  now. Some  _guy_  leaving hickeys on his neck and sleeping in his bed like she used to.

“I-I don’t understand.” She sputters out, not thinking, just running on autopilot.

The tentative light that was in Steve’s big brown eyes dulled. He faltered, looking for words, while the table went from bustling at the news to silent.

Jonathan took her hand and squeezed.

“Nance” he whispered, and she wanted to look at him, but her eyes were glued to Steve’s. “C’mon, he’s  _happy_.”

“Yeah,  _yeah_ \- I…” She cleared her throat, shaking her curls to clear her head and giving her most convincing smile “I’m  _happy_  for you, Steve.”

He knows it’s forced, she can see it in his eyes. Steve knows that she’s just saying it to placate the table, to placate  _him_  while she tries to make sense of this. But, she still says it, burying that wave of resentment that wells up in her gut, because deep down she really does want Steve to be happy.

But, what the Hell?  _How_  the  _Hell_?

Nancy just focused on Steve’s eyes and Jonathan’s hand on hers. Hopper got up and went for a smoke without a fucking word, so at least she was handling it better than someone else at the table.

It only bubbled up, though, again and again that night. Steve had hickeys all the time, Steve had been smiling like a loon for the past three months, and she hated that her first thought was “ _did he smile like that with me?_ ”

She doesn’t miss dating Steve— she loves him, but not the way she did before. Looking at him then, though, she couldn’t help but analyze their whole relationship. From kissing in the bathroom all the way to Halloween.

She pushed down that betrayed feeling and pretended for Steve’s sake, and her own.

She couldn’t hug him when he left the Byers that night. Something in it repulsed her, and she made some stupid excuse.

And her betrayal, her resentment, became anger.


	11. Pretty Smart

All his life, Steve had been told that he’s stupid.

He knew that he wasn’t smart, but he definitely wasn’t as dumb as people thought. He had actually kind of liked school when he was little– until the eighth grade, when his father started using him as a punchline.

His mother was simpering, constantly playing up his handsomeness and his athletic ability, but she would never say a word when his father dug into him about his grades. She talked about his basketball games (as if she’s ever attended one) with the neighbors, and “that pretty Wheeler girl”, to her book club, the country club– but she and Steve both knew that she did it to project a certain image. She’s not proud of him. She’s embarrassed by him.

His father is a busy man with plenty more important things to do than actually talk to his family– beyond the typical, mechanical pleasantries of the occasional times that they actually ate dinner together.

He was the one that first let Steve know how he felt.

Mr. Clarke had sent the midterm report cards home with his students the day before, but Steve’s was different than all the others. His contained a letter from the principal, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, explaining that, at the sluggish rate that Steve was progressing, he would need to either get a very high grade on the final exam at the end of the year, or he’d be held back to repeat the eighth grade. 

And that just wouldn’t suit the image that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington had created for the neighbors. With an “idiot” kid, they could no longer pretend that they were better than the rest of Hawkins. 

Steve was called into his dad’s study, and he saw it coming. 

“Steven, do you know what I’m holding?” he looked down his nose at his only child from his place behind his desk. 

“It’s- it’s my…”

“We’ve talked about the mumbling.”

“My report card… Sir.” Steve replied, louder and clearer. 

“No need to shout, Steven.” he rolled his eyes, and Steve crossed his arms defensively. “You’ve never been a good listener, I suppose I should have seen this coming.” by the end, he was spitting out the words, and the younger, smaller Steve proceeded to melt into a deep pit of self loathing. He was so ashamed, his eyes burning with tears. 

“I-I’m sorry, Dad, I–”

“What did you just call me?” he cut in, raising one eyebrow and pursing his lips. 

“S-sir. I’m sorry, Sir…” his voice nearly cracked, and he cleared his throat. If he cried now, he’d never hear the end of it. 

His father nodded sagely, as if this was actually a real tactic of parenting, and looked back down at the report card with disgust. Steve felt more scrutinized than he ever had. The young boy squirmed as his father made him wait for whatever he would say next. 

“I’m _disappointed_ , Steven. You continually disappoint me.” He lit up a cigarette, his eyes hard and fiery, but his voice was soft. His tone was measured and cold, and Steve jumped a little with every word “Do you know what this does to me? I’m an incredible man, Son. I’m a pillar of the Hawkins community: I provide jobs to over 25,000 people from here to Chicago to New York. I hold my family to an exacting standard.” he let out a long puff of smoke “Do you even know what that means?”

He just shook his head, looking down at his toes while his vision blurred. 

“It means you’re supposed to be  _the best_. Like me, like your mother.” He got up and stepped around the desk, and Steve fought the urge to back away. “I received a letter from your principal today– do you know what it said? It said that you, my only child, was too  _stupid_ to pass his midterms. At the rate you’re going,” Steve felt like he was going to throw up “You’ll be  _repeating_ the  _eighth grade_ , instead of going up to the high school with your peers.”

His dad had found him a tutor– “The best that money can buy”– and was assured that there would be consequences if he continued to disappoint him. 

He managed to pass the eighth grade. His parents weren’t even home when he came home and stuck the test on the fridge. He had even been proud of himself– a 92%. It was the highest grade he’d ever gotten. 

“Who says money can’t buy everything? Ellen, look– that tutor worked a miracle!” 

His mom had laughed airily, not paying attention. They didn’t even seem to notice that Steve was there. 

It wasn’t until halfway through his senior year that he got another tutor. One with sharp blue eyes and a sharper grin. Billy had offered after about 6 weeks of being with Steve, when he picked up that stupid college entry essay and started reading it as a joke. 

“This isn’t half bad, Harrington..” he found himself saying, and Steve just rolled his eyes– even Nancy had thought it was bad. Billy had to be making fun of him. 

“Yeah, yeah–  _hilarious_ , Hargrove. Come back to bed..”

“No, I’m serious. C’mere Asshole, let me show you.” He dug out a pencil from Steve's desk and started marking the damn thing to Hell, erasing or writing over Nancy’s neat little notes with his own. “I like this part about your grandpa.” 

They spent a full hour reworking the damn thing instead of going for round three. Billy had somehow managed to pull out his entire Trapper Keeper, working his way through his rough draft for his English essay and checking his goddamn math homework. 

“You’re pretty good at math– just gotta work on the writing, I think.” he’d said, shrugging his shoulders and taking a drag on his fifth cigarette of the night. “People have been telling me you’re some kind of idiot, Harrington, but you seem pretty smart to me.”


	12. The Hickey

If Steve had a dollar for every time The Party asked “Why’re you smiling so much?” or “Why’re you so tired?”, he’d have enough money to move out of his parent’s empty house. He would be able to get Billy away from his dad and move them both somewhere safe.

Whenever they asked, Steve would just roll his eyes and shake his head “You shitheads are making things up.” He’d fidget while he said it, chewing his nails or squeezing the steering wheel.

Those kids were more resourceful than that, though.

And El was much more perceptive.

It was really his own fault, sitting next to the  _ literal psychic child _ for Family Dinner when he was was keeping a secret this big. A whole  _ person _ , a whole facet of himself that he kept in the dark.

She poked his neck with a little finger tip and it was tender as Hell. He flinched and swore and everyone was looking at him.

“You’re bruised.” She said it so mildly, confusion and concern in her big, dark eyes. It was everyone else that had knowing smirks or long suffering eye rolls (that was Hopper. Just Hopper).

He hadn’t really thought to cover it. It wasn’t as if he ever had to hide this stuff from his own parents, and he actually kinda liked it. It made him hot under the collar to think that Billy was marking him as his— even when they couldn’t state who they were to each other publicly. At least everyone knew Steve was spoken for.

He just didn’t really want his  _ people _ to know. The people that he actually didn’t want to lie to.

“Steve Harrington” Nancy said, a scandalized tone hiding the giggle in her voice “is that a  _ hickey _ ?”

It was like she’d turned up the volume on everyone’s thoughts, and they were all verbalising them at once. The dinner table was calamity. Steve could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, he was blushing so hard.

“What’s a hickey?” Dustin, Lucas and Will were all saying. Mike shot them a look that said “You’re all such babies”, as if he knew any better than his friends did.

“Well, Steve, Maybe you should pick up the phone and invite her over!” Joyce laughed “There’s plenty of food! We’ll set an extra place.”

He closed his eyes and thought very hard about how nice it would be for the dining room floor to swallow him up.

“Hey  _ hey _ !” Dustin finally shut everyone up “What the Hell is a hickey?”

Jonathan choked on a sip of water, wheezing.

Hopper just wanted everyone to shut up. Honestly, Steve did too.

Jesus  _ Christ _ . Steve could hear Billy in his head, laughing at him, grinning like the crazy asshole he was, doing that stupid tongue thing.

“Its… um.” Steve choked out, his mouth feeling dry with all those eyes on him. He must’ve been redder than a goddamn tomato, he could just die— he was about to tell a bunch of thirteen year olds what a hickey was in front of the chief of police, his ex girlfriend, her new boyfriend, his not-mom—

“It’s when someone sucks on your neck during sex.” Max said, actively bored with the discussion.

Everybody just stopped and looked at her.

“Max, honey…  _ How _ do you—“ Joyce started, but the red headed girl just rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“You haven’t met my stepbrother. He has them  _ all _ the time.”

Steve blushes impossibly deeper, chugging his glass of water and avoiding eye contact like he was going to turn into stone if he looked at any of these people in the eye.

If they were any other people, he wouldn’t give a shit. He might even get cocky. Somewhere under all that anxiety, he was proud. He bit his lip against a smile, because he knew Nancy would catch it right away. She was kicking at his shin under the table, her big blue eyes saying “Why didn’t you tell me? What’s her name? Do I know her?”

“It’s nothing— not a big deal, really…” he muttered, drinking his beer.

It wasn’t nothing.

There was a time that those eyes would’ve killed him right then and there. Part of him still loved Nancy Wheeler, probably always would. But there was something liberating about smiling back at her without that old tug on his heart that he had only realized a month or two ago, had left him entirely.

“Wow, Steve— That’s a pretty big smile for something that’s  _ nothing _ ..” Jonathan was grinning, everyone was grinning. Well, not the kids. They were at varying levels of confused and dazed, but that was okay. Steve felt pretty dazed himself.

He smiled a little wider despite himself, and reveled in the flutter of feeling in his stomach. Max was raising her eyebrows at him, Dustin still looked flabbergasted. He would be hurt and sad, but Steve just couldn’t come up with an excuse for all the questions his friend would have.

“Who’s done?” He cleared his throat “I’ll start dishes.”

All eyes were on his back as he retreated desperately to the kitchen. He could catch on fire from the force of those stares, and didn’t breathe until he was safely in the kitchen.


	13. Let Me "Mom" You for a Minute

Steve was filling the sink with suds and hot water, trying to get the stupid smile off his face. He was lost in it for a few long moments— just a daydream where maybe they’d all be okay with it. With him.

He felt his giddy heart leaping around his chest in a way that hadn’t happened since he and Nancy were at the height of their honeymoon phase. Steve let himself revel in that feeling for a moment in the privacy of the Byers kitchen sink.

Until a few more plates and platters came down on the counter beside him with the clank of silverware, and the illusion was shattered. Steve nearly jumped out of his skin, all thoughts of golden curls and wolfish grins evaporating from his head.

Joyce was there, smiling at him like a cat with feathers sticking out of its mouth. He was almost pulled into complacency by her typical sweetness, but there was a gleam in her eye that told Steve this “mystery girl” thing was far from over.

After the brunt of mourning Bob had passed and reality began to settle back into the Byers house, Joyce started to be more like her usual self— something Steve had no experience with, since he’d only ever been around the older woman during inter-dimensional crisis.

Joyce Byers was mischievous. And spunky and  _funny_. Steve usually loved this side of the woman— but seeing those eyes turned on him now, he was more anxious of what she was planning.

Having these people in his life, this chosen family, was something Steve still couldn’t fully wrap his head around. He knew that he loved them all, even Hopper and Billy’s stepsister. But he was always thrown by them loving him back. He’d never had to hide a hickey from his real parents, they’d never even noticed he had any.

The fluttering of giddy butterflies in his stomach felt more like nerves as Joyce took her place at the sink beside him. There would be questions. He would have to lie now, or his secret would be out.

“ _So_ …” she grinned, plunging the first plate into the water while Steve wrung a completely dry dish towel in his fidgety hands.

“I don’t want to talk about it, can we not—“

“Oh yeah, of course, Honey. Mum’s the word, yeah.” She nodded emphatically, visibly trying to straighten out her smile.

They started the dishes in silence, as usual. Nothing but the swish of hot water and the fizz of Dawn soap bubbles. It was a comforting rhythm. Joyce washed, Steve dried.

Joyce Byers was a good person to be around— she just was, there was no other way to phrase it. Yeah, she was calming, but she was also funny and invigorating, and also fierce. Also, a consummate mother. Steve loved that about her— sure, he rolled his eyes when he got fussed over, but only so he didn’t have to admit that it felt so good. Like having a real mom.

He didn’t want to lie to Joyce Byers.

“How’s school?” She broke the amicable quiet.

Ah, the only question as bad as  _Who’s your girlfriend?_

Steve shrugged “It’s fine. I’m on track to pass, that’s all that matters.”

He always expected to be judged when he said that, but Joyce just nodded in understanding “Well, you’re almost there. It’s your senior year, right?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done.” He nodded, wiping suds from a plate with a little more vigor than necessary. The idea was liberating and terrifying, his mind started to race, but Joyce grounded him with a sudsy, warm hand on his shoulder.

“Any special  _friends,_ or—“

“ _Joyce_. It’s just…” he almost said  _It’s just sex_ , but that wouldn’t be true and would probably get him lectured. “It’s just a hickey.”

She huffed a sigh and shook her head, looking at the dark bruise with a raised eyebrow.

He knew it wasn’t  _just a hickey,_ but the less they knew, the better.

He looked over at her with a little smile that she returned with her own soft gaze.

Then, she poked his neck with a grin, tickling right at the gigantic bruise Billy had so thoughtfully placed where no shirt would cover. Steve ducked away, jumping a little while Joyce chuckled, her hand going to his back to steady him. Or maybe to keep him from running away from the sink.

“C’mon Sweetie, you… you can’t possibly expect me to  _not_  ask!” She cried through her laughter, eyes still sparkling when she continued more seriously “We just want to know that she makes you happy. Are you happy?”

Yes. He didn’t even have to think about it, he couldn’t help the lifting corners of his lips when the image of Billy popped into his head. Sure, he was a little nuts, and they fought like fucking animals, but he was worth it. This wasn’t casual anymore, it wasn’t something Steve could walk away from.

He wanted to shout from the rooftops that he belonged to Billy Hargrove, he wanted all of his little family to know, he wanted Friday night dinners with his blondie sitting beside him—

He bit his tongue against his grin and nodded. With thoughts like that running through his head, Steve couldn’t trust himself to speak.

Joyce saw something in his eyes, though, with her  _special mom powers_. She smiled, full and bright, patting his cheek before they both turned back to the sink.

They finished the dishes to the tune of the kids yelling in the other room, Nancy and Jonathan laughing their way through possibilities of who Steve was screwing. Hopper’s smoke wafting through the cozy house.

The smell reminded Steve of Billy, and he felt that warm fuzzy feeling of  _home_. He was comfortable again, placing the last dry plate on the stack when Joyce turned to him, looking concerned and firm all of a sudden. Her weathered hand rested on top of his on the counter, and he knew he was in for it.

“I know you’re in high school, I know what it’s like, Steve.” Her lips pursed as she looked for her words “Just let me Mom you for one minute. I gotta ask, Honey— are you being  _safe_?”

Good thing he wasn’t still holding the plate, he would’ve dropped it.

Joyce Byers wanted to know if he and his “girlfriend” were using  _protection_ , Jesus Christ, what the  _Hell_ ….

Steve’s brain pretty much short circuited, and he could hear Billy laughing at him again in his head.

His jaw went slack, his mouth was completely dry, there were no words in his brain or coming out of his face. He stared, wide eyed, while she looked up at him.

If this was his actual mom, he’d have no problems. Ellen Harrington didn’t give a shit what Steve did as long as he did it without making the neighbors whisper. Ellen had always been disinterested in her son— she’d called Nancy “Natalie” the entire time they dated, for Christ’s sake.

She didn’t give a singular fuck if Steve was having sex, let alone  _wearing condoms_.

Joyce was still looking at him with those wide, concerned eyes and he was gaping like a fucking fish, until she prompted him again.

“Honey? Are you—“

“ _Don’t_ \- I know what you mean, just— No.”

It made no sense, the words were coming out in a jumbled mess.

Being honest, they didn’t use condoms. Billy had been a real stickler about it for a while, talking about queer people and getting sick and stuff. But things changed when they finally made it clear that they weren’t sleeping with anyone but each other.

Steve was blushing violently red, he could feel it in his cheeks and his ears— oh my  _god_.

“No?” Joyce was frowning, lips pursed “Steve, I cant believe you! The last thing you need is a baby or an STD, you have a bright future—“

“Oh my  _god_ , Joyce, let’s not talk about this.” He was gesticulating wildly, talking fast, panic clutching his chest “Look— I’ve been doing this a while. I-I know what I’m doing and  _no one is getting pregnant_.”

She had no idea how true  _that_  was. Steve fidgeted, his fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, coming up to feel the tender bruise Billy had left him.

Joyce was looking at him with both eyebrows raised and a questioning gaze. The sounds of the house filled the air around them, but they both stood in silence, eyes on each other until Steve just couldn’t do it anymore.

If he stayed, he’d say too much.

Besides, Billy would be coming by that night, and they needed to talk about where Billy "marked his territory". There would only be more questions where these came from. 


	14. The Flood Gates

Billy doesn’t cry a lot.

But when he does, he’s the type that starts and just  _can’t_   _stop_.

Billy is a live wire– he’s full of energy and crackling emotions and he feels everything in such a raw, violent way that he probably would cry a lot more if he felt like he could.

But he lives in the Hargrove house, raised by Neil Hargrove, and has probably had “ _men don’t show weakness”_  and “ _crying is for fags_ ” shoved down his throat since he was old enough to walk.

So, Billy doesn’t cry. He bottles that shit up like fine wine and unleashes it on some poor unsuspecting victim (Steve, Max, Lucas, etc.) when they so much as look at him wrong. They don’t need to know that this is the only outlet for any and all emotions that he has. They don’t need to know that sometimes he thinks that he was born broken, and he’s scared out of his mind that the closer people get, the more likely it is that his life will get worse. That he’s scared of the day when he inevitably loses control, and really hurts or  _kills_ some poor bastard.

Billy Hargrove only cries in front of others when they have reached an absolute trust– Steve is first one to see it after he’s uprooted from California. Then, eventually, Joyce and Max. Even Hopper, later on.

Once he starts crying, the flood gates are open. No holds barred, it doesn’t matter what finally broke the camel’s back because now he’s sobbing, breath hitching, trembling all over. He can’t breathe, and his head hurts for hours afterward. His ribs ache and his lungs feel tight. His eyes are puffy and sore.

It isn’t something that is ever discussed– “ _why were you crying_?” is a stupid question. Billy doesn’t even know where to start, he could write a damn book about all the reasons he’s crying. But, it’s so much easier to just shrug, or push away and hide back inside himself all over again.

It isn’t something that he and Steve discuss. Most nights, at least. Steve’s in no place to demand answers– he still won’t tell Billy what wakes him up screaming at night– and the brunette knows it.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s letting him get away without a fight. Billy’s not allowed to shrug him off, try to shake him. Steve will hold him tighter to his chest no matter where they are, and Billy is forced to hear his steady heart, and maybe they’re not talking about it, but there’s a silent understanding.

_I’m here. I’m here for you when you need to cry, when you want to laugh, whenever you need me. I understand having a terrifying secret and knowing you can’t escape. I love you._

“C'mon blondie– I have a cream for that bruise. You need some rest.”


	15. How About a Kiss?

Billy came over earlier than usual, even daring to use the front door instead of climbing over the fence to the sliding back door. Whenever Neil was out of town like this, the blonde got a little more bold, more of his confidence was genuine.

He swaggered up the steps to Steve’s door that particular day, though, and the brunet already had a bag of frozen peas and some Advil at the ready.

Billy had really popped off at Tommy– all of Hawkins High couldn’t stop talking about it.

“You really kicked the shit out of him.” He said drily instead of a “hello”, dragging his boyfriend into the kitchen to look over the damage on Billy’s pretty face. He couldn’t help the little grin though, when Billy smirked at him despite his busted lip.

“He fuckin’ deserved it for pushing you during practice.” His eyes were still fiery with the leftover rage.

“He deserves it just because he’s Tommy H, asshole. I hope the detentions are worth it…” Steve pressed the bag of peas to Billy’s swollen left eye– a touch too rough, he supposed when Billy grunted in response.

“Hey, ow! Some bedside manner you’ve got, Harrington. Is that any way to treat the guy who defended your honor?” He griped.

Usually, he’d roll his eyes and press the peas more gently to his bruise. But there was something so endearing about his stupidly handsome, beat up face, still thrumming with adrenaline from destroying Tommy H’s face.

If Steve Harrington was the type to call things cute out loud, he’d call Billy Hargrove adorable.

“Yeah, yeah. My hero. Alright, tough guy– let me make it better?” He smirked and Billy echoed it right back to him. “Where’s it hurt, baby?”

Billy scoffed and pointed up to the black and blue of his eye, smiling mischievously. “How about a kiss?” He purred.

It was barely a kiss, really. Steve pressed his dry lips so softly to the starts of that bruise that he could just barely feel the heat of the swelling. Billy still sucked in a breath, a tiny noise coming out while he rested a busted up hand on Steve’s hip.

Without even having to ask again, Billy pointed to his cheek, a clear knuckle print in the soft flesh there. Steve cupped the opposite side of the blonde’s face and relished the feel of Billy under his mouth as he kissed there too.

He kissed a little trail, starting at his cheekbone and stopping at the corner of his slack pretty mouth, pulling away just enough to look in the other boy’s eyes. Billy smelled like blood and cigarettes, cologne and old books. He was warm, spicy and masculine. The heat of his hand on Steve’s hip filled him with tingling crackles of heat that spread through every inch of him.

“Where else?” He whispered, knowing the answer long before Billy pointed a slightly shaky finger to land dumbly on his own split lip.

That one’s the sweetest. Steve fitted his own lips against Billy’s like puzzle pieces. They moved slowly against each other and Steve soaked in his boyfriend’s long moan, lost between the aches of pleasure and pain. He could taste the smallest tang of blood in his mouth, and stroked the column of Billy’s throat with his thumb, holding him still.

Not that Billy would ever dream of moving.


	16. Oh Lolli-Lolli-Lolli Lollipop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: blowjobs ;) ya welcome

It wasn’t  _ fair _ .

Steve stared at his tutor, his  _ friend _ — well, whatever Billy was at this point— and watched the thin white stick in his fingers. His plush lips were wet and red, and he looked positively  _ juicy _ . Steve’s blood thrummed under his skin while Billy sucked on the lollipop in his mouth.

He took it out to speak, but Steve didn’t hear a damn thing. His tongue was just as red, and if Steve sucked it into his own mouth, he knew he’d taste that artificial cherry that the blonde loved.

Steve’s mouth watered.

“—ington! Steve Harrington, are you listening?” Billy’s voice, a familiar rumble that did not help his current predicament, cut into his thoughts. Steve took in the rest of Billy’s face. He was so goddamn  _ sexy _ . Steve was sure he had a stupid, dreamy look, but he didn’t care.

He cared about those long eyelashes and the laughter in those sparkling blue eyes. Steve knew how to press just right inside that boy to make his eyes fill with pretty tears, make him gasp and cry. A radiating heat curled itself in his hips, and his pants got tighter around the fly.

It would be safe to say that he was thoroughly distracted from his history essay.

Billy smirked, eyebrow arched “Are you objectifying me, Harrington?”

The blonde already knew the answer, biting his bottom lip and twirling his red lollipop right at Steve like a teaching pointer.

“We’ve been at this for a long time, Babe, how about we.. I don’t  _ know _ ..” he  _ knew _ . Steve nodded his head in the direction of his bed. The sheets were still mussed up from earlier, and the memory of Billy’s clever mouth sucking on the pulse of his throat made Steve swallow, hard. “We could take a break. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Yeah? That’s all you’re saying?” Billy’s voice was completely deadpan.

“I can’t help that you’re so distracting.” He replied, trying to keep it cool. Stealthy, like a ninja.

He took the other boy’s hand and played absently with his fingers on the table. Billy scoffed, rolling his eyes, but his cheeky grin was still in place. Those red lips glistened in the lamplight and Steve barely restrained himself from launching across the desk to kiss them.

“I’m gonna go get some water, Harrington.” He replied, licking at the candy with a ridiculously alluring gaze “Maybe without all my  _ distractions _ , you can finish this homework?”

The blonde stood then, his tight jeans hugging his ass in all the right places. He left nothing to the imagination, even putting a little swing in his hips as he turned the corner and headed downstairs.

Steve was so hard it  _ ached _ , his cock throbbing against the painful zipper of his own tight jeans.

It’s not like his homework was  _ immediately _ forgotten, but he didn’t last long. Any focus that he had had walked downstairs with Billy Hargrove’s ass and mouth and…  _ Jesus _ .

Steve was unbuttoning and unzipping his godawful jeans and collapsing onto his bed in record time. The feeling of freeing his cock from the pressure of his pants felt almost as good as that first stroke of his hand teasing his length.

Steve started at the base of his cock, working his way up with a loose grip, wanting to make this last until he could get those red cherry flavored lips on him. The heat in his gut reached new heights at just the thought of Billy’s hot little mouth, the way he would hollow his cheeks and swallow around him just to hear the choked out groan Steve would make.

Steve’s eyes slipped closed, a smile on his face as he pictured his blonde. His Billy, perched between his legs, mouth stuffed full and moaning around it like a bitch in heat. He liked to look up at Steve with those big eyes, watch him fall apart while he—

“What’re you smiling at, Pretty Boy?” Billy’s voice said, and Steve knew he was smirking back at him without even opening his eyes.

He squeezed the head of his dick, feeling the precome beading at the head. Arching his back a little, he let out a low moan, making a show of dragging his fist from base to tip.

Billy fucking  _ loved _ his cock. He said it all the time, every time he stroked it, sucked it, or took it inside him. His eyes fluttered and he scratched up Steve’s back and ran his mouth about how big and good and sexy  _ King Steve’s  _ dick was.

Steve’s smirk became a full grin as he opened his eyes to see Billy leaning in the threshold to his room, still sucking on that damn lollipop and looking like sin. His eyes were dark with lust, a bulge showing in his tight jeans, and Steve was so fucking  _ proud _ as he watched Billy watching him pump his big dick with his hand.

He was the luckiest guy in the world.

“How long have you been standing there?” He asked, his voice dark and smooth.

Billy grinned with his red lips around his lollipop stick, taking three slow steps to the side of the bed. His eyes were trained on Steve’s hand as it moved on his own length, looking hungry, almost feral. His lips sucked that lollipop harder, and Steve took the blonde’s free hand in his, guiding him to grip his cock.

Billy let out a long, low sound like a purr.

“So  _ big _ , Steve.. you’re so  _ fucking big _ …” He said, reverent.

He stared for a moment, taking Steve in with his hot blue gaze, as shameless as ever. Billy slipped his candy out of his mouth with an audible  _ pop, _ leaned down and caught his lips in a hard kiss. The sticky sweet flavor of the candy was still on his lips and tongue, and Steve’s cock jerked in Billy’s grip. He grinned against his mouth like a predator zeroing in on his prey. The thrill in Steve’s veins only mounted higher as Billy undid his own jeans and straddled Steve’s hips.

His cock was plastered between the two of them, rock hard and drowning in the rough friction of Billy’s denim. They kissed and kissed until Steve’s brain was swimming in too many sensations, unsure where he started and Billy Hargrove began.

He chased those sweet lips when they were suddenly gone, only to have a half eaten cherry sucker popped into his mouth. Billy smirked and winked, his gaze hot and dangerous as he sucked deep purple hickies down Steve’s throat, collar bones, chest and abdomen.

He shivered, all out  _ shivered _ with the feeling of breath ghosting the head of his steadily leaking cock. He sucked the candy in his mouth, losing himself in the sweet and tart memory of Billy’s lips as he tangled a hand in his curly hair.

“Yu-you here t-to finish me off, Baby?” He stumbled over the words, his tongue feeling heavy and saturated with flavor. He lifted his head to see Billy running the tip of his nose up the underside of him, following it with that cherry red tongue.

Steve couldn’t have said anything else if he wanted to, his breath paused when those glowing blue eyes opened and fixed on him. Billy was grinning, a hand coming to rest against Steve’s full balls. He started a steady, methodical massage there, just breathing hot air over his dick.

“I’m not here to finish you off,  _ King Steve _ —“ he growled, the sound going straight to the growing heat coiled up in Steve’s gut “I’m here to start you up.”

Suddenly, Billy wasn’t teasing anymore, those slick red lips enclosing him in mind numbing, tight heat. He slid his mouth all the way to the middle of the shaft, swallowing when Steve’s head hit the back of his throat. He groaned and growled, letting the vibrations stir Steve’s arousal even further.

He could die happy right here. Steve was beyond any words or distinguishable sounds— a low, satisfied rumble of noise was emanating from his chest, but Steve barely noticed. Billy took all of his focus, all of his feeling, and channeled it into the suction and flicks of his tongue. The wet heat. Steve had to be dying.

Billy reached up and grabbed the hand that wasn’t already buried in his hair and placed it firmly on his head. He grabbed at Steve’s hips, and looked at him with watering eyes.

He had precome and saliva dripping down his chin, making him a debauched mess even before he lifted his head off of Steve’s cock and said “ _ C’mon _ , Sweetheart— fuck my throat, do it like you  _ mean it _ .”

Steve did not need to be told twice. He stroked the blonde curls off of the other boy’s face, took a long steadying breath to keep from blowing his load right there, and rolled his hips deep into Billy’s mouth.

Billy choked at first, his lips stretched and eyelashes clumped with tears, and Steve kept it smooth and easy. He petted him and shushed him, the taste of cherry and just the stick of the lollipop still in his mouth. Steve spat it out and eased Billy deeper and deeper, until finally, his nose was flush against his hips.

It was unlike anything Steve had ever done with anyone but Billy Hargrove. The other boy’s throat fluttered around him as he fought for air.

He slid his lips back up the whole length of him before gasping for air, a fucking  _ perfect _ trail of spit and precome connecting his lips and Steve’s cockhead. Steve could come right there, painting Billy’s lips and eyelashes and the bridge of his nose. He was flushed and wet and the  _ most beautiful thing  _ Steve had  _ ever _ seen.

Steve was fighting for breath too, but he wasn’t able to ask the other boy if he was okay— that question answered itself when Billy took a trembling hand and started to pump Steve’s sloppy wet cock, hard and fast and rendering Steve incapable of anything beyond “Bil-Baby, I  _ can’t _ \- I’m gonna..”

“ _ Do it _ . C’mon, Pretty Boy—  _ come for me. _ ” His voice was a rasp from how Steve brutalized his throat, but it only served to make him come harder.

Billy sealed his lips over the tip and milked him through every shuddering, gasping moment. Stars popped in his vision and his back arched off the sheets, his hands still buried in sweaty blonde curls as Steve shot his load into Billy’s red stained mouth.

When he finally regained his ability to breathe and exercise basic functions, Steve opened his eyes to see Billy still cradled between his thighs, his face nuzzled at the crook of his thigh and his hip, looking up at him through his dark eyelashes. There was still come on the corners of his mouth and Steve’s cock managed an interested twitch.

Billy smirked.

“See?” He rasped “Told ya I was just getting you started, you insatiable bastard.”

“Get up here.” was the only thing that he could think to say, tapping his own chest and noticing belatedly that they were both still wearing their clothes. Billy crawled up his body until they were breathing each other’s air, and Steve kissed his lips. It was gentle— Steve pressed their mouths together and slowly licked his way inside, feeling his blonde, his  _ Baby _ , melt against his chest.

Billy was still hard enough to cut diamonds in his stupid jeans.

“This is what we’re gonna do—“ he said, pulling just far enough from Billy’s lips to press their foreheads together “We’re gonna get naked. And I'm gonna get you screaming loud enough to wake the fucking neighbors.” he kissed him again, unable to resist.

Billy chuckled, nodding lazily “As you wish, _King_ Steve.”

It was going to be a long night. He could write his history essay tomorrow.


	17. Terrified

He was so fucking drunk. He had finished off a half a case of beer that had been sitting in his trunk. He had had to leave that night, he couldn’t stay in that god awful house for one more second. So, Billy had hauled ass out of the driveway and ended up at some field.

It was the path through the woods that he took to Harrington’s back door.

He had finished every can of beer in his car and started walking. He just walked and walked the familiar path, not even thinking. He just knew he wanted Steve. Maybe he _needed_ Steve.

The thought sent a shiver down Billy’s spine, even while a warm feeling bloomed in his treacherous heart.

Ever since that first time, when Billy came by with busted knuckles and tears in his eyes, and Steve had curled up behind him and tugged him close… Billy just couldn’t bear to sleep alone. He missed him. He missed the weight of Steve Harrington against his back, and the protectiveness that ignited that fire in his eyes when he looked at Billy.

That first time had been a mistake. And every time after that, for that matter. It was stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

He was just a stupid fag.

The word still cut as deep as the times that he actually got smacked around and really beaten. The dark, raging pressure in his gut clawed up this throat then, and Billy didn’t bother to hold it in.

He screamed. He fucking screamed right there, in the middle of the fucking night in Steve Harrington’s swanky fucking neighborhood. Billy punched the siding of the house until he hiccuped and coughed, eyes hot and vision blurry with tears.

“Billy, what the _fuck_.” The sliding door was thrown open, and there he was. Arms crossed and backlit by the warm light of his kitchen, Steve looked absolutely murderous.

Billy wished he could deck him. Really punch him out until maybe Billy was too guilty to look at him anymore. He was beautiful and angry and he dragged his drunken ass into the house in record time.

“What are you… are you fucking _drunk_ , Hargrove?” He bitched, but he still scanned him up and down with those big brown eyes in that protective way that made Billy tingle.

It had been so long since someone had given a shit.

“Maybe..” he gave him a fake, toothy grin.

“Fuck you– you’re lucky my parents aren’t home, you dipshit. You probably woke up half the neighborhood.” He griped, glaring like he could burn holes right through Billy. “Hopper’s gonna be beating down my door within the hour because of you.”

He shoved a glass of water into his hand, and Billy gulped it down wordlessly. He was too mesmerized by the sight of King Steve, finally mad enough to take charge.

It was fucking beautiful. He was just gorgeous.

“Get your ass upstairs– you need to sleep this shit off.” He ordered, pointing emphatically to the staircase. Up to his room, where Billy was so at home. Where he’d first peeled Steve out of his clothes after school so many months ago and started this whole thing.

Billy looked at the fire in front of him, glaring him down. He grinned.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Harrington.”

He was expecting a fight. He was thinking in his drunk, rattled brain that Steve would get up in his face, list off to him every reason why he’d be going upstairs to bed.

But Steve skipped that nicety and grabbed Billy by the arm again, tugging him bodily up into the dark of his room. Billy put up a clumsy, half-assed fight, but he was just happy that he hadn’t been kicked out yet.

Or maybe that was what he wanted. For Steve to break this off and tell him to never come back.

The thought was unbearable. Thinking about it for just a second brought the drunk tears back to Billy’s eyes, sitting on the bed while Steve undressed him. He just watched as he did it. He was so fucking beautiful.

“Flattery will get you jack shit tonight, Hargrove.” Steve growled– apparently he’d been thinking out loud.

“Not flattery, Steve… jus’- jus’ true..” he didn’t know where it had come from. If he was sober, he’d never have said it. He’d have thought it, sure. But he thinks about how pretty Steve is all the time, that was nothing new.

But saying it was a fucking game changer. Steve stopped and gave him a hard look “What happened, Billy?”

What did happen? Billy couldn’t remember. He remembered that his dad hated his guts. He remembered that he was a fag. A stupid fag. He remembered that he felt compelled to come here because Steve had become his _home_ in this shithole town and he…

“I think… I think I’m in love with you, Steve. And I’m terrified, I mean….” the words were spilling out, going going gone. He couldn’t hope to make it stop, and goddamn it felt good to say it. “I’m so fucking _terrified_..”

He gripped Steve’s hands in his where they’d stopped in the middle of taking his shirt off. He took his hands in his and squeezed, feeling the pull of his busted knuckles while he did it. He didn’t care about that, though.

Steve Harrington was looking down at him, eyes luminous and otherworldly in the darkness, jaw slack.

He squeezed Billy’s hand back.

The whole world seemed to pause right then, waiting for Steve’s response.

“Get some sleep, tough guy.” He finally said, something closing off in his gaze as he helped him with his shoes and slipped back into bed. He didn’t look back at Billy and it hurt like nothing Neil could ever do to him.

He got into bed like he’d been told, Steve lying further behind him then usual. They laid there, and the room was spinning for Billy but it was all set right when Steve rested a hand on his hip.

“If you really mean that, tell me when you’re sober.” He whispered into the quiet.

Billy fell asleep wearing a smile.


	18. I Love You

Steve woke up to the patter of rain on his bedroom window, and for a few slow, wonderful moments, it was just that. Just Steve, warm and sleepy with the familiar weight of Billy Hargrove pressed to his chest, dead to the world in his arms. He released a long exhale and buried his nose in the blonde curls then, and the events of the night before came clattering into his head.

Billy wreaked of beer.

He hadn’t even been that much of an asshole that night. But actually, if Steve was being honest, the fact that Billy Hargrove wasn’t that much of an asshole was the weird thing. He’d felt raw and honest— not being a menacing dick, not even being the cocky charmer that Steve was used to.

He’d told Steve he was beautiful.

And then he said it. The other thing.

A roiling pit of anxiety constricted around Steve’s chest, and he carefully extricated himself from around the blonde in his bed. He needed to think— he needed some coffee and a good long moment to think about the implications of what Billy Hargrove had actually said to him. He especially needed to figure out if this was a dream or a nightmare.

It must have been some sort of joke. Right? Assholes like Billy didn’t really change, Steve told himself. He knew he was lying, but with the distraction of scooping out coffee grounds and the painful memories of what happened the last time he was an idiot who fell for someone’s bullshit, Steve could almost believe his panicky mind.

Billy had changed, though— that wasn’t bullshit, that had to be real. He smiled at Steve sometimes, and it was real— the realest fucking thing. In a world where he still saw demodogs and fire lighting up shadows, Steve clung to Billy’s genuine nature. Under the facade of the über macho bully, Billy was honest and blunt and sometimes corny as Hell. He was funny.

Steve’s heart pounded traitorously in his chest. It almost felt like hope, and he rolled his eyes at his own stupidity as the coffee pot burbled and percolated.

“Mornin’.” Billy padded across the tile, his bleary blue eyes clearly speaking to the hangover he must have had. The tug on Steve’s heart was absolutely unfair— how did he find that endearing?

“Aspirin’s on the counter, coffee’s almost ready.” He replied, trying to sound cool and collected, but probably sounding downright mean. Goddamn it.

How many mornings had they had like this one? All this awkward shittiness aside, how many days had Steve come downstairs after a night with that blonde to find him making coffee, wishing him a good morning with the hoarse rumble of his voice. They’d drink it in silence and eat Poptarts straight out of the box. They would put their mugs in the sink and Billy would let Steve crowd up behind him at the counter, kiss and nibble at his neck until they just had to do something about it.

There had been too many of those days in the past few months to count, and it ached deep inside Steve to acknowledge that he loved it.

He loved Billy.

“Sheesh, Harrington. No need t’yell…” Billy grumbled, frown etched into his face.

He was in love— the panic that had been gripping him before felt all-encompassing then. Steve’s palms were clammy as he grabbed their usual mugs, trying to pretend that last night had ever happened, but oh god, Billy had a usual mug at Steve’s house. Billy was here enough for that. He made this big empty house feel lived in. Billy was a terrifying, wonderful pain in the ass, and Steve loved him. Billy had said that he loved him too. Holy shit.

Steve internally shook himself as he poured two cups of coffee— Billy had been drunk. He might not even remember saying it… Let alone whether he had meant it.

“Are we gonna talk about last night or are you gonna act like it never happened?” Billy’s voice was rough, suddenly right next to him as his hand slipped around to grab his mug.

“You wanna talk about you screaming down the fucking neighborhood, or those busted knuckles? How’s your hangover, huh?” He didn’t know why he was so angry all of a sudden. Being close to Billy made his heart race and he turned around only to be penned against the counter.

Billy looked awful. His eyes were blue and bloodshot, circled with tired darkness. He still smelled like the beer from last night.

Steve half expected Billy to start a fight, or to say something about all of it being a mistake, bullshit.

“C’mon, Harrington—“

“Or how about the part where you said you loved me.” He hated how it made his voice shake to say it. Billy was so close, right in his face, their coffees going cold behind them.

For a minute, the two boys just stared at each other. The only sound was the rain pattering against the roof.

“And what if I do, huh?” Billy broke the tense quiet, his voice softer than Steve thought it would be.

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk, Billy— you weren’t yourself.”

“Am I myself now? You’d fucking know, you see me more than anyone else—“ his eyes were bright and desperate. Steve swallowed hard and pushed out of the other boy’s hold.

“Yeah— but Nancy said that too.” Steve spit out, finally fucking saying what scared him.

Billy scoffed “Wheeler?! Do I look like Nancy fucking Wheeler to you, Steve?”

Steve went to open his mouth again, but he was cut off by the other boy grabbing him by the face with his bruised hands and smashing their mouths together.

“When I say things, I fucking mean them, Harrington— I love you.”

They both had morning breath, and anxiety was clawing up Steve’s throat, but when Billy pressed their lips back together, the feeling paused.

It felt real— he cupped his cheeks, and Steve slipped his arms around the other boy’s waist and squeezed him flush against his body. Billy melted in his arms and Steve was lost to the feeling.

“D’you love me, Steve?” Billy pulled back, pressing their foreheads together because he already knew the answer.

“Yeah. Yeah I do…”

The rain continued to come down, and Billy and Steve decided to stay home that day. They had nowhere to be but right where they were.


	19. Trying Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: PORN 😘

“Baby…  _ Baby _ ..”

Billy barely stirred, could barely hear Steve sing-songing in his ear over the pounding of his heart. He was still catching his breath, thighs trembling. Harrington had left him weak, as always, and Billy could only manage a pitiful moan in response, feeling Steve run his big hands up his torso— just the lightest, sweetest touch— and back down to squeeze his hips.

Billy didn’t know how he did it, but he sure was happy he was the one who got to have King Steve all to himself.

Steve was still trying to talk to him, a soothing rumble of words that tickled his ear. The brunette held him close, his face buried in his blonde curls. Billy swatted lazily at him.

“Shuddup, sweetheart…” he just wanted to ride this wave. The aftershocks of the orgasm heard round the fucking world. He was surprised they hadn’t woken up the neighbors with the desperate noises that had been rattling the bedroom until so recently.

It was late— pitch black outside, but his eyes had adjusted to the dark blue tones of Steve’s stupidly preppy bedroom. Those big doe eyes glowed down at him when they finally made eye contact.

They still hadn’t named this for what they both knew it was. The swooping, roller coaster-like feeling that billy felt in his gut when Steve Harrington looked down at him like that couldn’t be stated for what it was— but it couldn’t help but be felt. Love curled itself around his heart like a cat in a sunny window, and he wasn’t scared of it anymore.

How could he be? When loving The King gave you orgasms like  _ that _ .

“C’mon, Babe, lemme try something…” Steve crooned. How was he even still awake? Billy’s eyes were hooded and heavy.

“Sure, sure… y’know I never mind when you try new shit…” he mumbled, letting his eyes droop closed entirely and just  _ feeling _ as Steve kissed down his body.

They were hot and wet, and there was come all over Billy’s stomach. He shivered and moaned without a thought when he felt that familiar tongue lapping at the mess cooling on his abs.

“Nasty, Steve… really fuckin’—  _ guh, Stevie _ .“ he started, but his breath caught in his throat when Steve nipped at the soft skin under his navel, kissing and laving around it and down. Even his cock twitched with feeble interest, and he could feel Steve’s smiling lips against his hipbone.

“Baby, Baby,  _ Baby _ …” he purred, making a comforting, tingling heat spread all throughout the blonde’s limp body.

He could feel breath against his hole, gaping, a little raw from the King Steve treatment it had gotten, and messy with hot come. He could still feel the memory of that cock pulsing in his ass, hear the choked off sound that Steve made as he sucked a dark mark into Billy’s neck. He had filled him up good, and Billy couldn’t help but reach down and curl his fingers into the dark brown hair of the man between his legs.

“Hey now, don’t get pushy..” he teased, taking Billy’s wrist and pushing his hand away. Billy whined, and it would be embarrassing if he still gave a shit.

Steve breathes gently over his hole, probing with one finger to push a drop of his own come back into Billy’s sore asshole. He kissed the tender skin of his inner thighs and nudged them wider apart.

“C’mon Baby— spread these legs. Open up for me…” he crooned, placing the first kiss to Billy’s hole like he was kissing his mouth.

Then again. And again with a flick of his tongue.

Steve buried his whole face in the space between Billy’s legs, humming a wordless praise that brought back the trembling in Billy’s thighs.

Usually, it was Billy running his mouth. Billy who was taking someone apart in the sheets, talking dirty and manhandling Steve just to prove he could.

This time, it was all Steve— the  _ King _ was out to play, and he wasn’t messing around.

He licked broad strokes up and down Billy’s crack and into his hole, hardening his tongue and fucking inside when the mood struck him. He was  _ eating _ , Billy was a  _ meal _ , he was  _ shaking _ all over and making a long litany of drawn out sounds without any thought or pretense. He didn’t even feel real, he wasn’t even human under Steve Harrington’s touch.

“You alright up there, Bill?” He rasped, coming up for air, and Billy could see the glistening mask of spit and come on Steve’s cheeks and nose and those goddamn  _ lips _ .

He let out a sob, his brain not even parsing the words. He only knew that the sensation was gone, he was so empty and cold, and he was crying. When had he started crying?

“Oh my god, Baby, are you—?”

“ _ Don _ ’ stop! Stevie, sweet—“ he shoved at Steve’s head, his shocked face flush with arousal as he took in the mess he’d made of Billy Hargrove.

He was back in an instant, doubling down. Billy shrieked behind his teeth, electricity rippling through him until he felt like he was going to explode. He was hard again— rock hard and dripping on his stomach.

Steve sucked and nipped at the rim of his asshole, and he knew somewhere in his rational mind that he was going to be beyond sore tomorrow, but he didn’t care. Right now all he wanted was King Steve, between his legs and wringing him dry.

“Fuck me, fuck me,  _ fu’— Jesus, Swee’ _ …”

Steve kissed his thighs again, rubbing over his puffy, abused asshole with a thumb as he took a breath like a drowning man.

“You want me in your ass?” He sounded so fucking hot, Billy could only nod and make stupid little grabby hands, pulling Steve up to kiss his lips with those messy, swollen lips.

He could taste both of them in their kiss and locked his legs around the brunette’s hips as Steve rocked into him, up to the hilt in one stroke. Billy made a ragged sound. Steve stroked his hair off his face and kissed him, wiping at his wet cheeks with his thumbs.

They were flush together, Billy’s red cock stuck in the friction between their stomachs as Steve thrust into him.

It didn’t take long for them to finish. Time was a watery thing that bled in and out of Billy’s blissed out mind. All that existed was King Steve, his massive cock, and the punched out sigh that he let out when that cock throbbed and pulsed, drowning Billy in the sensation of another load of come.

He came apart with a shudder and a sound that he wouldn’t ever admit was a scream. It hit him like a truck, the hot coil of arousal in his hips unraveling and painting him white up to his collarbones.

The world was nothing but pops of light and dark for a while. Steve was stroking his hair, laying beside him with a wide eyed look on his face when Billy finally returned to the stupidly preppy room.

He must have been out for a decent amount of time, because Steve had found the time to clean him up as much as he could. The wash cloth was still on the nightstand.

“Hey, Baby— are you okay?” His voice was still rough, his mouth still red and puffy. Billy rubbed a clumsy thumb across his lips and made him grin. Steve sighed out a long breath. “Jesus, what got into  _ you _ ?”

“ _ You _ , dumbass…” Billy managed, catching his breath and scooting impossibly closer to Steve on the ruined sheets “What the  _ Hell _ was  _ that _ ? I… Holy  _ shit _ , Steve…”

The brunette held him, kissing his face and neck— he was so fucking tired. They were both so tired. Steve was leaning heavily against him, still petting him, and Billy just breathed and fought the exhaustion as best he could.

“I’m gonna need some warning.. before you do  _ that _ again.”

“You liked it?”

Jesus  _ Christ _ . “Steve, you just made me come so hard I  _ blacked out _ . Just give me a couple days to walk normally again, you  _ Beast _ …”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to feel the pride that puffed up Steve’s chest as they settled into the pillows. He could get used to this— boneless and fucked out in Steve Harrington’s arms.


	20. Convincing Billy to Come to Family Dinner

“Please, Billy!”

“No fuckin’ way, Harrington!”

Steve dragged a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a sigh.

He asked every week. It had been a full month since he came out to his little chosen family. Joyce had taken his hand and El had beamed at him like she’d somehow already known. Nancy had told him she was happy for him, and Hopper had even hugged him.

Hop had said “bring him for dinner next week, no excuses” and Steve had been giving nothing but excuses for Billy for the past four fucking Fridays.

“They want to meet you!” He tried again, taking his boyfriend’s hands and squeezing like he could will the idea into the other boy through osmosis.

“They want to know who I am, Steve. So that I can’t–”

“They want to know who’s been making me so damn happy for the past 3 months, asshole!” He tugged Billy closer when he finally stopped rolling his eyes and trying to pull away “They’re my family, Baby, they want to… they want us to be happy.”

He could feel himself losing steam, Steve was so sick of trying to convince Billy that the Byers and everyone were good people. That they weren’t trying to expose them for their sexuality, Neil would never need to know a thing, they could have a safe place… Billy needed a safe place, more than anyone Steve knew, and he just wanted to give it to him.

“Don’t be stubborn, try it!” He gave a last ditch effort, nearly begging because Steve needed this so badly– a night with everyone he loved present and accounted for. A home.

The blonde studied his pleading face carefully, and Steve could see those gears of his mind turning under his pretty curls.

“Don’t need to be so damn dramatic about it, Harrington.” He muttered after a long few moments “You said this dinner thing was on Friday?”

“Every Friday, 5 PM.” He rattled off, excitement and relief spreading through every part of him in an instant.

“Whoa there, slow down. Let’s start with one dinner, Sweetheart. I’ll drive Max over and you can… introduce me to “your family”, okay?“ He said every word like pulling teeth, fixing Steve with a serious blue gaze.

He let go of the other boy’s hands and nearly knocked the wind out of him with a hug, pressing their lips together in a kiss that he hoped could say all that Steve couldn’t. Billy smiled softly against his mouth and Steve just knew that he’d gotten the message.

And then he ran off to call Joyce, telling her to set an extra place for that weekend before the stubborn asshole changed his mind.


	21. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Every nerve in his body, it felt like, was alive with jitters. Billy wanted to punch someone, get in a fight, go for a run— anything to get rid of some of the intense energy building in his gut.

Fear. He couldn’t believe that of all the times to be driven through with fear, it would happen to him on the steps of the Byers house. It was a fucking stupid mistake to let Steve take him here. He was weak to agree in the first place.

“Hey, relax.” Steve said, soft and warm, taking his hand in his and squeezing “It’ll be an… adjustment. But once they know you like I do, they’ll love you like I do.”

The brunette looked so happy to have finally gotten Billy there— to his “family”— that he just couldn’t change his mind. He couldn’t let his Pretty Boy down.

Billy just nodded and tried a smile. Steve just smiled back, fidgeting nervously with Billy’s fingers in his hand and leaning in for one last kiss. It was a gentle press of lips on his, and Billy felt lighter and safer. He gripped the brunette’s hand tighter and melted into the kiss like there was no one on the other side of that door.

So it somehow managed to come as a surprise when that door was wrenched open, to Dustin fucking Henderson on the other side.

The cheeky smile the little shit had had at the sight of Steve dropped off his face in record time.

“No. Not you, anyone but you.” He said, going from shock, to disbelief, to rage. “What the fuck— the actual fuck— Steve, you can’t be serious!”

This was off to a great start, Billy thought. He tried to extricate his hand from the other boy’s then, but Steve only held him tighter.

The tension was palpable, but Steve just held up his free hand placatingly “Things are different now, kid. You gotta trust me on this.”

The swell of pride in his chest was almost too much to handle without grinning like a lovesick idiot. He would never say it out loud, but part of Billy had expected Steve to ditch him at the door. Part of him thought Steve would distance himself to cling to some semblance of heterosexuality, but if anything, it was the opposite. The brunette held his hand and led him into the small house, right past Henderson and all the other slack jawed twerps that had been alerted by Henderson’s loud cursing.

“Steve, who’s this?” A small woman came up to him, oven mitts on. She smiled with genuine warmth and Billy soaked that up like a flower looking up at the sun. Her eyes were sparkling like she knew who he was— at least, who he was to Steve— already.

“Joyce, this is Billy.” Steve smiled back. He was clearly relieved to see her, and Billy had never immediately trusted someone the way he trusted Joyce in that moment “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Billy, what the Hell?” Max cried, incredulous. Billy didn’t even spare her a glance.

“Don’t trust him, Mrs. B— he’s a fucking psycho!” the dark haired tall boy piped up. Steve whipped his head around to glare at the kid.

Over Joyce Byers’ shoulder, he could see the gawping faces of Princess Wheeler and Jonathan. A tall, gruff looking guy with a cigarette hanging from his lips was paused near the back door, taking him in.

Billy wanted so badly to just disappear. He wanted to look down at his boots until this was over and pretend he wasn’t a fucking spectacle. Steve stroked his knuckles with his thumb, jaw set stubbornly.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Billy.” Joyce touched his shoulder, sensing the tension. It was pretty much impossible not to, really. “Dinner’s just about ready— would you boys help me set the table?”

It got them away from the kids, at least, who let out a calamitous protest that grated on the remains of Billy’s patience.

“Hey, hey! Pipe down, relax—“ the man was saying, almost bored over the sound of all those little shitheads.

Lucas Sinclair called something called a “Party Meeting”, and they disappeared to Will’s room.

Joyce handed them forks and knives, plates, everything they would need, and left them to it while she and Jonathan finished up dinner prep.

“They’ll get used to it.” Steve said after setting out plates, setting his hand on the back of Billy’s neck as he folded a napkin so hard it tore.

“I’m fine, Harrington-“

“Really? Are you sure about that? You just give off the impression that you want to murder everyone you look at.” He chuckled, but Billy didn’t find it too fucking funny.

“Don’t say that too loud, Asshole— Henderson’ll call the fucking cops, or something.” He snapped, more harsh than he meant to be.

“And why would he do that?” The gruff man from earlier said, leaning in the threshold of the dining room.

Billy and Steve both took a couple steps back from each other. He strode up to Billy and extended a hand that the blonde was careful not to visibly flinch away from.

“Chief Jim Hopper, kid. You’re Billy?” He shook the offered hand. Steve had outed them to a cop, was he out of his goddamn mind?

Billy just gave a cocky half a smirk, hiding the alarm bells telling him to run like Hell away from this house and all the people in it that hated his guts.

“Billy Hargrove.” He nodded. Steve was chewing anxiously on his fingernails.

God, what a shitshow.

Sitting down to eat was a blessing and a curse. Clutching at Steve’s hand under the table, Billy took a slow bite of chicken and hated himself.

He actually wanted these people to like him, damnit. But, with all those kids watching him like he was a ticking bomb, Steve’s ex girlfriend sitting across from him, and the chief of the fucking police staring him down, Billy was starting to feel pretty hopeless.

Joyce was his one reprieve, asking “So Billy, you and Max are siblings?” and “Where in California are you from?”

He answered all the questions with as much charm as he could force while Steve fiddled with Billy’s hand under the table.

Max was looking at him, studying him all through dinner with the curly haired girl with the big eyes. Both of them were damn near looking right through him and he was acutely aware of how badly he needed a cigarette. If Max breathed a word of this to Neil, he’d fucking kill her, and he made sure to send her a glare that said that.

She just looked right back at him though, adding to the tension boiling over in the worn out dining room.

He finally escaped back to the front porch after they finished eating. Pacing and clenching his muscles, Billy took a long drag on his smoke and let himself revel in the relief of the hot burn in his lungs. He let the chilly spring evening nip at his skin, and tried to get himself together. He felt like he hadn’t properly breathed in the 2 hours since stepping into the Byers house.

When the door opened, he expected it to be Steve. But when he turned to look, there was a spark of anger igniting him all the way to his toes.

It was Henderson and his gaggle of brats.

“Well, if it isn’t the Fellowship of the fucking Ring.” He deadpanned, sucking down a lungful of smoke to tamp down his rage.

If any of them got the reference— which of course they would, look at those dweebs— they ignored him.

“What’s your angle with Steve?” Dustin said, trying to be tough.

“You’re asking me what my intentions are with your precious babysitter?” Billy replied, arching an eyebrow and blowing smoke in the little twerps face “What or who Steve Harrington does in his spare time is none of your business—“

“Just get out of here and leave him alone, you psycho!” That was the tall kid again.

“Who are you, again?” He sassed back, knowing full well that that must be Wheeler’s brother.

The kid just rolled his eyes at him “Fuck you, Hargrove!”

“Steve’s been through enough!” Sinclair cut in.

Throughout his berating from the Scooby Doo gang, Billy noticed something. Max was silent, looking almost embarrassed. Little Will Byers was staring at his shoes, and that curly little thing was still just staring at him. This was a pretty half assed intimidation tactic.

“Hey assholes!” The door opened again, flooding the step with a moat of yellow light. Steve was standing there with a dish towel over his shoulder, his lips pursed like he had smelled a rat. “What’re you doing?”

“Defending your honor!” Henderson shot back, as if it was obvious. “You’ve taken complete leave of your fucking senses!”

The brunette stepped out into the cool night “Taken leave of my— who even fucking says that, Dude?” He cried “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m happy?”

Happy. Steve was happy, Steve was defending Billy at the very house that he’d beaten him in. Something melted in Billy’s heart, and he finished off his smoke to hide the swell of emotions. He made Steve Harrington happy.

The whole train wreck of a night was suddenly worth every second.

Steve shooed the twerps back into the house “Go play Atari or something, leave Billy alone, Jesus Christ, guys…”

Billy grinned at the other boy, batting his eyelashes comically “Steve Harrington, you’re my hero. How will I ever repay you?”

Steve’s grin back was bright, and defeated the purpose of his eye roll “Yeah yeah— I can think of a couple ways.” His eyes sparkled, going a little dark even at the joking insinuation of sex, because Steve Harrington was an insatiable motherfucker.

“You guys are gross.”

Max was still standing there, hovering by the door.

“Then why are you listening, Maxine?” Billy replied, at the end of his rope.

“This is why you’ve been so nice lately, isn’t it?” She continued, not caring that she was ruining a moment “Apologizing to me and Lucas, driving me to the arcade.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, taking hold of Steve’s fidgeting hand.

“If Neil catches you, he’ll make us move again.”

Billy rolled his eyes, not saying that if Neil found out this time, he’d skip the moving part and just beat Billy to death. He fucking wanted to, but instead he hissed out “Then I guess we shouldn’t tell him.”

Max nodded, like she was finally understanding something. She looked from their hands to their faces and back again.

“You’re still gross— but I’m happy for you, Billy.”

And maybe for that night, that was as good they were gonna get. That was fine with Billy.


	22. "Do You Love Me?"

Billy had a love-hate relationship with mornings.

From the time he was little, Neil would wake him up early– sometimes before dawn– for chores. Sometimes it was just to push him around, to tell Billy what a piece of shit he was.

He thought of it every morning without fail, when his eyes opened at 5:00 AM or earlier, staring at his blank ceiling and thinking about when his dad would snap each day. He was so tired, Billy was just so damn tired.

He didn’t start to love his natural proclivity for being an earlier riser until he started sleeping over at Steve’s. Until he started falling in love with Steve.

The window just above Steve Harrington’s bed always let in the first strokes of morning sunlight, and by the time Billy was awake there was usually a vibrant golden wash over the sleeping boy beside him. It lit him up from the inside out, sparking against the brunet’s soft skin until he was glowing.

Billy was always happy to be awake when he woke up next to Steve. It became routine to study him every day that he was able to stay, memorizing the slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes fluttered, the exact color of that mole on his neck that Billy loved to kiss.

Billy memorized this contented, peaceful moment, laying in the warm moat of light and basking in Steve’s glow. When Neil was shouting at him, when that first hit landed later, he’d be able to lose himself in this moment. One of the only times when everything felt right.

That morning was no exception. When Billy’s eyes opened at first light, he took the moment to realize his surroundings and turned his head on the pillow to look at Steve. 

His thick hair stuck up in all directions, the long column of his neck exposed. The pretty smattering of moles and freckles there were bruised and bitten by Billy the night before– he loved to suck marks into that soft skin. He was so pale, so goddamn cute.

Not that Billy would ever say that out loud.

His fingers didn’t itch for a cigarette when he woke up next to Steve– the stress of not knowing what was next wasn’t there like it was at home. Studying his boyfriend’s sleeping face, listening to his slow, steady breaths had become his new addiction.

He knew every smooth plane of his body, the exact shade of his lips, the way his brown hair would collide with the sunlight through the window– Billy knew. So, when there was suddenly a furrow in that brow, when his breath caught in a distressed hiss through his teeth, Billy knew from the first sign.

His nightmares usually made Steve toss and turn, he kicked and shouted during the worst of them. Billy still didn’t know what the hell King Steve had faced off with or why, but he knew Steve had been doing well lately. He barely ever woke himself up, he was sleeping through the night.

But, then there was a pitiful little sound, different from the terror of the usual nightmares. He whimpered, bottom lip jutting into a wobbly frown. His brow was crumpled and he had hunched in on himself, pulling away from where Billy was curled against his side.

Steve looked dejected and broken. So thoroughly wrecked, and Billy didn’t know how to proceed. With the usual nightmares it was simple: wake him up. Not so much with this type of dream.

He muttered to himself, little jibberish words that Billy wished he could make sense of, if only to fix that frown.

“…don’.. don’t l-love me?” When the words finally made sense, they only made this more confusing “don’t… bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit…” he kept saying it, a tear slipping down from under his thick lashes, and Billy just swallowed his anxiety and started shaking the other boy.

Steve woke with a shudder and a gasp that turned into a sob.

Billy touched him carefully, wondering how the fuck to decode whatever that just was.

“What the Hell was that?” He said, unable to find any other words in his addled brain. Billy rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles into Steve’s back. He just wanted him to stop crying, please stop. “Steve, Sweetheart– c'mon, get over here.”

Manhandling the lanky brunet was no easy task, but he came to rest between his naked legs, pillowed against Billy’s chest. He seemed to calm down pretty quickly after that, settling into sharp, shuddering breaths. His hand gripped Billy’s tightly enough to bruise.

“Take it easy, Harrington–you’re gonna break my hand.” He chuckled, trying to keep it light, but Steve dropped his hand like a hot rock and scooted away from him just bit down the bed.

His jaw was clenched and he fidgeted with his mouth.

“D'you… Do you love me, Billy?”

The quiet question was like getting hit upside the head with a 2x4. Billy balked– of course he did. He thought that was clear, how could it not be clear?

“Like, really and actually? Do you love me?”

Well, he didn’t say it very often… and Steve just about always said it first.

“That’s seriously what this is about?”

“If you don’t, you should just fucking leave– I can’t do this again.” It was raw, sounded a little guttural, and the words stung.

Billy before Steve would’ve said something shitty, really broken everything apart, and headed home.

He surprised himself, though, unable to get out of the bed. He was frozen by the simple fact that Steve needed help, needed him. Maybe that was what love was.

This was about Princess Wheeler. He knew she’d really hurt him, but Billy hadn’t thought it could be that bad. He didn’t think she could’ve raked him through that much shit.

He reached for Steve’s fidgeting hand before he said anything, held it in both of his and waited for those big brown eyes to look at him.

They were round and desperate and bloodshot from tears.

Billy couldn’t dream of leaving.

“I love you, Steve Harrington. None of this is bullshit–” he flinched at the word and Billy squeezed the hand in his, tugging him back over to him “You are not bullshit… she fucked you up really bad, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“I’m gonna say it more.. you deserve to know, I.. I thought you already did.” Steve was pressed back close to him in seconds, held tight. Billy mumbled the words into his hair.

The sun shone down on them and they were both, for once, awake to see it.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Steve finally muttered into the morning hush.

Billy shook his head “Nah. I heard you talking in your sleep. Something about bullshit and love and… whatever.” He cleared his throat and hunched down to pepper kisses to his boyfriend’s forehead and cheeks, squishing him impossibly closer against his chest.

“I love you, Steve Harrington. She was an idiot to ever let you go.”

It was quiet, and Billy was ready to defend his stance on Nancy Wheeler’s idiocy, when he felt familiar lips kissing at his jaw.

“I love you too, Billy Hargrove.”


	23. Going to California

The weather was oppressive– a heavy blanket of humidity and a miserable drizzle from the angry looking sky. All of Hawkins was waiting with baited breath for the clouds to split open and thunder to ring in the downpour.

It had been a few days like this, and everyone could feel it.

All the sky’s pressure seemed to center itself right on top of Steve’s sinuses, squeezing his head. He hated summer colds. They happened every year, but Steve refused to think it might be allergies. He didn’t have allergies.

Even in the haven of central air that was the Harrington house, everything was sticky with the impending rain.

When Billy starts throwing pebbles at his bedroom window, Steve is huddled in bed with limbs alternately in and out of the blankets. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out if he was hot or cold as he slipped in and out of fitful sleep. He debated not even answering the taps on the glass, but he knew Billy Hargrove. And he’d just start trying to break the fucking window if he was in the wrong kind of mood.

So, he dragged himself out of his nest of blankets and down to the back door.

“You ditched your stupid twerps, Harrington.” Is the first thing out of his mouth “They made me drive them to their dorky nerd game.”

“You poor baby– my head weighs 3,000 pounds.” He deadpanned in reply.

“Wah wah wah.” He ran a deceptively gentle hand through Steve’s thick hair as he passed by him and helped himself to rummage through the kitchen. Steve could hear him– the opening of a cabinet, the clinking of glass, the sound of the tap, a calming rumble of Billy humming. It blended with the starts of the storm outside and made Steve feel warm.

When he shuffled into the tiled room, the blonde was at home with a bag of chips. He lit up a cigarette as he handed Steve a glass of cold water.

“Drink this, you little whiner. You’re dehydrated.”

He wanted to refuse just for the sake of it, but the look in those blue eyes brooked no argument. He took the glass and a long sip that seemed to fill him down to his toes.

“So, King Steve– all these months of falling in love with you, and you never told me you had allergies.” His hand was back in Steve’s hair, tapping his toe to some rhythm that he’d been humming to earlier.

He drained the glass in his hand and leaned into the soft touch.

“Fuck you, I don’t have allergies.” He pretended to glower, but really is was his inability to keep his eyes open that made him squint.

Billy smiled and rolled his eyes “Yeah, whatever.” He refilled his water glass and hummed quietly that same tune, snubbing out the last of his cigarette. He continued to stroke Steve’s hair, and at some point his heavy head came to rest on the other boy’s shoulder.

The vibration of the tune Billy hummed tingled through all of Steve’s body and made him moan, pressing closer to his comforting warmth.

He was so damn tired. And, like he was reading his mind, Billy pressed a kiss to his forehead and murmured “let’s get you to bed, Pretty Boy” into his hair.

His bed was always more comfortable when it was shared with Billy, and he curled in close with his ear pressed to his heartbeat. Billy massaged his neck and temples, alleviating some of the headache pressing on his skull.

“What’s that song?”

“What song?” They were both whispering by some unspoken agreement, the rain finally starting to come down properly. They listened to patter against the window and the first crack of thunder. Billy jumped a little, held Steve tighter like he always did during storms.

They never talked about Billy’s dislike of thunder. Steve just kissed his chest and restated his question.

“What’s that song you’ve been humming?”

“Oh. Just a thing that’s been stuck in my head.”

The rain kept falling harder and Steve’s eyes dropped closed.

“Will you sing it for me?”

Billy huffed a laugh “Yeah, I don’t think so, Harrington. I’m no singer.”

“C'mon Billy, please?”

His eyes were still closed, but he smirked and pinched the blonde’s side, making him wriggle and jump. He flicked Steve’s ear in retaliation.

“Now there’s definitely no way–”

“But I want to hear you sing. Please, please, please-”

“Oh my god, fine. Shut up.” He chuckled and tried to sound put out.

Steve smiled, kissed at Billy’s chest again and waited patiently, eyes closed and head feeling a little lighter.

“ _Spent my days with a woman unkind_

_Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine_.”

Billy’s voice was quiet and deep, kept soft by his insecurity and backed up by the tapping of the rain.

“ _Made up my mind to make a new start_

_Going To California with an aching in my heart._ ”

His exhaustion pulled him to and fro with the pace of Billy’s breathing as he sang for him. A smile tipped his lips and his headache became an afterthought.

“ _Someone told me there’s a girl out there_

_With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair…_.”

He loved him. Steve loved Billy so much as he fell asleep listening to the rough growl and sorrowful beauty of his voice. He dreamt of the beach and Billy and something they could make their own.

Somewhere where Steve hopefully, wouldn’t have any allergies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Going to California by Led Zeppelin AKA Billy's Mom's theme song. I based my entire characterization of her off this song.


	24. Shitty Trees

After they get together, Steve and Billy still fight. About Steve’s obvious PTSD, Neil, Billy’s short temper, etc.

Then, one day in the middle of some argument, Billy just looks so fucking murderous and mad that Steve can’t help but be reminded of that time that Billy beat him into the Byers’s floor. He braces himself for a punch– and then Billy’s gone. He just rips the front door open and fucking  _leaves_.

He’s gone for hours, until long past dark. Steve’s starting to think that maybe he should call Hopper or something, when someone knocks at the door.

Steve throws it open, knowing who it is, and is ready to launch back into the fight from earlier

“What the Hell, Hargrove?!” He tugs the other boy into the foyer of his house, checking him for injuries through glaring brown eyes “Where’d you go? I was  _so_ –”

“I can’t…” Billy starts, trailing off and looking down at his scuffed up boots.

“Can’t what? Finish a fight that you fucking  _started_?”

“I can’t  _hurt_   _you_  again!” He finally spits out, his eyes red rimmed as he glowers back at Steve, who is well and truly shocked. The guilt and shame starts setting in then, because Billy’s knuckles are all bruised and scratched up. He must’ve been beating on something to let out the anger.

And it was all so he wouldn’t hurt Steve.

He’s almost expecting Billy to pull away when he reaches out and cradles his hand in both of his, inspecting the bruises and cuts.

“What’d you hit?” He asked, more breath than word, and both of them just feel like shit.

Billy shrugged “Some tree…” he croaked back. “It deserved it. It was a pretty shitty tree…” the attempt at a dorky joke that usually would have made Steve snort with laughter fell flat.

He sighed and pressed his lips to the blonde’s hand “Billy, we… you can’t just go around fucking punching _trees_ , we need to.. we need to work on this anger–”

“Cus _I'm_ the only one with things to work on?” That sounded a bit more like Billy– sharp and said with a derisive scoff.

“If you work on this shit, I’ll… I’ll talk to Joyce. About all this- this  _anxiety_ , and shit. Okay?” They were just holding each other’s hands now, standing like a couple of lovesick dorks in Steve’s foyer.

Billy grinned and it was sincere and beautiful, and Steve loved the Hell out of him. So, he kissed him, nice and sweet.

“I know you’ll never hurt me again.” He whispered between presses of lips “Never again, I know it, Baby..”

Billy smiled into his mouth “Shut up and take me to bed, Pretty Boy.”


	25. Billy's Mom

She was by no means a perfect mom, maybe not even a good one. But if anyone said a word about her around Billy, they wouldn’t last long against Billy’s rage (both protecting her memory and expressing his own rage at her). She made him who he is, and Billy thinks that maybe she ruined him, too.

It’s my headcanon that Billy’s life kinda sucked from the get-go.

His parents were young, and got married only because Billy’s mom got pregnant. Neil always resented him for it.

I also think that his mom was a bit unbalanced– like hypomanic bipolar or manic depressive. You can’t deny the manic qualities that Billy has in the show, it just makes a lot of sense to me.

For as long as he can remember, Billy’s house has been a battleground for his fighting parents, and it isn’t uncommon for Billy to get sucked into the fight and smacked around by one of them (usually Neil, except for one very memorable time that his mom misaimed with a beer bottle meant to be thrown at Neil).

But, where Billy hates Neil, his feelings for his mom are a bit more complex. There were times when it was just the two of them and everything was fine– better than fine. She was fun for a little boy, full of energy and sparkle and imagination– almost too much. She didn’t remember those times too well, but Billy treasures them. He remembers them as the only times where he wasn’t afraid or felt the need to defend himself. But there were also spans of time, sometimes weeks, where mom could barely bring herself to move at all, too exhausted and apathetic to even get out of bed.

The last thing they did was fight. Neil was shaking her, she was screaming in his face and pushing back away, Billy was glued to his spot on the sidelines. He was fourteen. He yelled at Neil to let her go, and suddenly he had zeroed in on Billy. Finally managing to get free, his mom reeled back, smacking Billy clean across the face as she ripped herself away from her husband. It was an accident. It really was an accident.

Neil did the rest. Billy’s ribs were cracked by the time he was done, screaming at his wife that this was all her fault, she had started it, and now she’d made Neil hurt Billy. Again.

The next day was a Sunday. Billy was out in the San Diego sun, trying to shake his fear and anger from the night before, a bruise blooming on his cheek. No one was home while his mom wrote a lovingly worded note and slipped it into an envelope, along with her own metal of the blessed virgin. No one was home when she killed herself.

Billy was the one that found her body in the spare room of their sandy little bungalow, and he had a full ten seconds of time to stare before the terror and the helplessness kicked in. There was blood all over the floor, gunsmoke in the air, and a note on the floor by his moms slack hand.

It took a full week of grief turning to resentment, a week of hiding the note under his mattress from Neil, before he got up the nerve to read it.

_ “My Silly Billy _ ,

_ I’m sorry. They say that this is the coward’s way out, but baby, I’m so tired. Its my greatest hope that you never have to experience how heavy this type of exhaustion can be. I can’t protect you, and I guess I haven’t been able to for a long while. Just do what he says and keep your fighting spirit. You can survive, you’re such a strong boy. My pendant is enclosed with this note– please carry me with you. As long as you have the blessed mother you’ll know that I’m there _ .

_ All my love _ ”

She didn’t sign her name at all. Just “all my love”. Just left him alone with her love as if that could protect him better than she could. He loves her back, more than anything, but never really forgives her.

Neil got rid of every picture of her that there was. He erased her as completely as he could– he even burned the letter when he found it, almost a whole year later. Billy hated him more than he could ever express without punching through the nearest wall (or person).

Billy sometimes hated his mom, too, for abandoning him. But he carried her every day, morning noon and night, never took off that pendant so Neil couldn’t get rid of it. He wore his shirts open– a taunt. Just let him try to take it. He kept his fighting spirit. Especially when Neil moved them to San Francisco and married again. Billy was barely fifteen, and he felt like his anger was the only force driving him on most days. He took it out on Max.

The last words his mom spoke to him were too garbled in his rattled head for him to even think about. Sometimes he couldn’t even remember what her voice had sounded like, but he remembered that letter. He carried that pendant and that fighting spirit until they were all he had left, an outcast in a family that wasn’t his anymore. Maybe it never had been.


	26. The First Flinch

The first time anyone in the gang starts catching on to things not being quite okay in the Hargrove House, it’s nothing dramatic or overstated. Billy’s tight lipped about his life and his dad, he doesn’t show up late with bruises (not yet, at least).

The first time it’s pretty understated, but it’s enough.

Everyone was still adjusting to the new edition to their “family dinner” crew. Billy was still an outsider to the kids, butted heads with Nancy all the time– but he made Steve happy. And, to his surprise, Jim Hopper became his first sort of  _friend_  in the tight knit group.

After dinner every week, they’d end up having a smoke on the porch. At first, it was just a coincidence– two guys, smoking a cigarette, not talking, not smoking  _together_. Somewhere along the line, though, that changed. They didn’t talk a lot, but soon they were offering each other a light or exchanging a little small talk. The silences were companionable.

That night, though, Neil had given Billy shit for leaving every Friday night, for not talking Max out of whatever was happening between her and Lucas Sinclair– he pushed Billy around a little. Nothing too bad, just enough to rattle him.

He didn’t get up for a smoke after dinner when Jim did, still a little shaken and gripping Steve’s hand under the table. It was grounding, comforting. Steve was the only one who knew what was going on. Not even Max had figured it out.

Hopper passed right by them, his shitty, unfiltered cigarette already between his lips.

The clap on the shoulder was hardly aggressive, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Billy hadn’t seen it coming, and flinched visibly at the sudden hand on him.

There was a quick second of silence while everyone noticed.

Steve squeezed Billy’s hand a little tighter, running his thumb over the knuckles.

Billy’s heart was suddenly just about beating out of his chest.

“Y'know, you boys could do that on top of the table– no one’s gonna hurt you here.” And maybe the last part of that was a little bit pointed, but nobody mentioned it.

Jim raised an eyebrow, making eye contact with Joyce over Billy’s blonde head before pretending nothing had happened.


	27. Panic Attacks

Steve hated this feeling.

He wished that he could blame it on the Upside Down– “PTSD” or whatever Hopper said that he was struggling with– but he knew that that wasn’t it. Although it had hardly helped it. Hopper didn’t know what was happening with Steve. Even Nancy hadn’t known about the panic attacks, or the way he could just obsess over an outfit or his hair or a party until every worst case scenario was flooding his head.

He honestly didn’t know how he’d managed to hide it so long. But still, nobody knew.

Nobody did until Billy found out, but that’s just the thing– Billy found out. Steve didn’t tell him.

And he still didn’t know the half of it. How Steve, for as long as he could remember, could be doing anything, just going about his normal day, thinking about school or grades or friends, when all of a sudden the fear would creep in. The feeling of eyes on him, even when he was alone, the way unbearable pressure filled his chest and forced the breath out of him.

He couldn’t tell anybody about the anxiety. What would they say? How would he even start to explain?

Steve was thinking about college this time, when everything started to build. His hands trembled and he wasn’t doing anything in the kitchen, but he was rooted to his spot.

His dad wanted him with the company, working under him– he hated his dad. He wasn’t about to be some glorified coffee boy just so his dad could make comments about his intelligence to his shitty friends. He wasn’t smart enough to go to college, he’ll be lucky enough to graduate, and that entrance essay was shit! Billy had been tutoring him, trying to rework it, but Billy probably hated it too, he was just making fun of Steve when he said he liked it. He had six assignments due coming up and finals were around the corner. If he didn’t graduate, he’d never be able to look his parents in the eye again. How could he–

It was like living in a vacuum. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, his vision popped with stars, and he wasn’t breathing– not only that, but there was no air in the first place. He was drowning, standing with every muscle tensed up in his own kitchen, panting out labored little sobs as he tried to breathe.

Billy had been upstairs, grabbing a pair of Steve’s sweats to throw on. He thumped back down into the kitchen then, furrowed into a frown– he couldn’t find his shirt anywhere.

Steve was by the sink, his back to Billy, and it took less than half a second to see the signs.

“Hey, have you seen my– oh.” Steve’s bare back was ramrod straight, and those heartbreaking little huffs of air were the only noise in the whole downstairs of the Harrington house.

Billy rushed forward and got himself right in the brunette’s space. “Hey Harrington, c'mon. Come on and look at me.. Sweetheart, please.” He still wasn’t good at this, the whole comforting thing. Billy had talked Steve down from nightmares, but he so rarely had a problem with a real, middle of nowhere panic attack like this.

Steve’s eyes were swimming with tears, staring blankly ahead. Billy cupped his cheeks with his hands, shushing him quietly and keeping up a constant babble of half a conversation. It probably didn’t make any sense, he didn’t even really know what he was saying. It gave Steve something to listen to, though.

The minutes felt like fucking hours while Billy waited for the other boy to breathe, to look at him, anything.

He hadn’t realized that he was holding his own breath until Steve finally blinked and his brown gaze met his. Billy exhaled with a rush, and the tears were falling from Steve’s eyes freely now. Billy swiped them away with his thumbs before tugging him flush against his chest and holding him. Steve crumpled up against his chest, face buried in his shoulder.

“Hey. Hey Pretty Boy, welcome back.” He kissed his hair and whispered in his ear while Steve’s deep, ragged breaths slowed to match Billy’s. He still trembled.

“B-Billy?” He croaked. Billy shushed him.

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, Sweetheart.. god, what the Hell happened to you?”

He’d asked it enough times that he knew Steve wouldn’t respond. Billy swallowed down the thrum of irritation for now. Fighting with him about it now would only freak Harrington out more.

“C'mon. Let’s get you upstairs– you need some rest.”

It wasn’t until a few hours had passed that Steve woke up in Billy’s arms. The sun was setting behind the trees outside his window. Steve just snuggled back into the other boy’s chest, listening to his soft heartbeat until every last jitter of anxiety faded back into sleep.


	28. Meet the Harringtons

That Saturday morning started with a ringing phone and his mom calling up the stairs. Steve didn’t feel a pressing need to move rush away from his warm bed, though.

Billy hated how lackadaisical he was when it came to his mom. But Steve knew that he could take his damn time extricating himself from the blonde in his bed, because even if Ellen Harrington were to walk in and see him and Billy naked that morning, she would be too oblivious to think about it. She’d convince herself that it was her eyes playing tricks on her and Steve had some blonde girl in his bed.

He didn’t even put on a shirt, slipping into sweats and heading down the stairs, hickeys on display. He almost wanted her to ask— at least then he knew she was  _ looking _ at him.

Ellen Harrington just blinked at him with glassy eyes and a bland smile. She handed him the phone with a kiss on the cheek that smelled like wine (at 9:30 in the morning) and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Hullo?” He cleared his throat, voice still rough from sleep.

“ _ Steve, Honey? It’s Joyce _ .” Her familiar voice crackled down the phone line.

If it were anyone else, he would have rolled his eyes again for being roused out of a perfectly comfortable bed with a warm, loving body in it at such a  _ stupidly early _ hour on a Saturday— but what kind of asshole rolls their eyes at  _ Joyce Byers _ ? Even when she couldn’t see him, Steve couldn’t bring himself to do it.

With all the hullabaloo of dinner last night, she had forgotten to ask if he could please watch Will from 5 o clock until 9, she had said. She had a shift and Jonathan was going out with Nancy. Dinner was in the fridge for him to heat up, and there was enough for him and all the kids. Joyce still had understandable issues with leaving her youngest home alone, even with friends. So Steve agreed.

He could hardly say he didn’t like those little shitheads, not after all these months of saving the world, and driving them around, and family dinners. Steve didn’t mind. It’s not like he and Billy were doing anything that day besides laying in bed and fucking around.

But it didn’t make that Saturday any better than it started, with a wine-soaked kiss from Ellen Harrington.

It didn’t end up being a great day.

Technically it started the night before, when Steve came home from the Byers house to find his parents fighting. He was so amazed that John and Ellen were even talking to each other, let alone exhibiting actual emotions. He almost missed what they were arguing about.

Graduation. They weren’t going to go to Steve’s high school graduation. They were arguing about whether the neighbors would gossip, and it devolved into a fight about his mom’s pills and his dad’s “secretary”.

They had barely even acknowledged Steve, but he knew he’d wake up to fifty dollars on the counter “for groceries”. He knew they were trying to buy him off, but that was fine by him. He should get something for putting up this shit— he’d been saving up that cash for  _ years _ .

There was a one hundred dollar bill on the counter on that particular Saturday.

Ellen left that morning for some spa weekend with her xanax’d out friends, and Dad was headed to Switzerland. Or  _ something _ . Steve didn’t actually know where or why his dad traveled for “business”, but he did know that when he didn’t take his wife with him, he took his mistress.

It didn’t hurt like it did when he first figured it out— that his parents didn’t even  _ like _ each other, let alone  _ love _ each other— but John Harrington’s cheating still left a hollow feeling in Steve’s chest.

It was the lack of care put in to hiding it. Like the lack of care that they put into pretending to remember that they had a son in the first place.

Those were the days that he didn’t just wait to see if Billy would show up at his back door— he called and Billy would come.

He would call, Billy would come to him in the night, and he’d kiss the bad feeling right out of him. He’d press Steve into his mattress and make him forget everything outside of what it was to be  _ loved _ .

Saturday wasn’t a good day. But it was reminder that, while his parents couldn’t be bothered, there was a bed full of Billy and a house full of people that didn’t think he was an afterthought. He was loved.


	29. The Morning After

The early morning sunlight shone in Steve’s window. 

He wasn’t sure how he was awake so early, or why, but it wasn’t a bad feeling like the nightmares that were all too common for him. In fact, he felt better that morning than he had in a long time. 

It was like that warm moat of morning sun was inside him– bright, golden energy radiating from his gut and out to the top of his head, the tips of his toes. He wiggled them absently, his arm coming to lightly rest on the bare back of the boy still snoring slightly into his chest. 

Billy was still totally out. Steve ran his fingertips down his spine and back up into his hair, but it only received a huff of breath. The blonde snuggled up impossibly closer, and Steve continued rubbing the warm, tan expanse of his back.

He stretched just a little, careful to keep from jostling Billy and reveling in the soreness of his muscles. Even from his awkward angle, Steve could see the starts of the hickeys on the both of them– tokens from all that they got up to the night before. 

Graduation night. 

His cap and gown were in a heap on the floor, right in that moat of sun. The rest of their clothes were mixed haphazardly throughout Steve’s bedroom, his desk was swiped clean of all papers and pencils– they were on the floor as well. 

Steve would need to wipe down his desk with some Lysol later. 

But not now– he had nowhere to be until 5 PM. He and Billy could lounge all day, they didn’t even have to get dressed until they went to the Byers for dinner. It wasn’t one of their Friday “Family Dinners” (it was a Sunday), but Joyce was insistent on celebrating Steve’s graduation. 

Especially once she’d heard that his parents weren’t even in the country. The look on her face was something Steve was unlikely to ever forget. 

He hadn’t exactly missed the presence of John or Ellen Harrington at his graduation ceremony. It was just one more thing that they “forgot”, and Steve didn’t actually care at all. He hoped that they had a grand old time sniping at each other in their lush Austrian hotel. 

The ceremony itself was actually horrendously boring. What made it something even worth thinking about was the surprise of his “Family”– Joyce, Hopper, his twerps, Nancy and Jonathan– sitting with Billy in the uncomfortable auditorium seats. That felt pretty fucking good. Dustin and Billy were both whistling, Nancy stood up and clapped like a crazy person, and the rest of the kids whooped when the principal called Steve up to receive his diploma. Hopper had hugged him tight afterwards. He’d even told him he was proud of him. The evening that Steve thought he’d be spending alone (until Billy came over later) quickly became a full schedule of ice cream and fries at the diner. Celebrating with his  _ family _ . 

What happened later– when Billy Hargrove finally got him alone and pressed up against the cool wood of his front door– wasn’t so bad either. 

The blonde rubbed his cheek against Steve’s chest, tickling him with his unruly curls. He shifted and pressed his back into the brunette’s hand as he continued to stroke along the bumps of his spine. 

“G’morning.” Steve whispered, not daring to break the hush of the golden morning. 

Billy just let out a lengthy groan as he kissed at Steve’s chest right where he’d been resting, trailing off into a whimper that he’d never admit to as he stretched his undoubtedly  _ sore  _ muscles. 

“How’re ya feeling, Baby?” Steve chuckled. Billy bit a little harder than is strictly playful at Steve’s nipple, making him hiss. It wasn’t like Steve minded– his cock was already pleasantly heavy and hot, pressing against his boyfriend’s hip. 

“You know exactly what you did, Asshole.” Billy grumbled back. 

“I don’t remember hearing you complain last night–” Steve shot back, unable to do anything but grin like an idiot. 

“Mmmmhm. You did a number on me, Pretty Boy.” the blonde’s voice changed, sounding more like a purr than a growl, and he sucked the nipple underneath his lips right into his hot mouth, making Steve gasp and scratch at his back. 

“ _ Yeah _ ? You-  _ uh _ \- you seem like you want it all over again…” Steve sighed, feeling the blonde shift to straddle his hips, running his callused hands down his ribcage and sucking just under his chin. 

It was languid– slow and soft and lazy. Like the summer heat had pervaded the boys in the bed, and not just the window dressings. Steve just carded his fingers through Billy’s hair and closed his eyes to the sensations. 

“From you, Sweetheart you  _ know  _ I do…” Billy purred along the column of his throat “we’ve got all day..”

“Uh huh…” Steve replied, gently tugging Billy’s face from his neck and up to meet his gaze for the first time that morning “I’m all yours– nowhere to be.”

Billy’s eyes were hot and blue, flicking around to take in all of his face and lifted his own hand to push back Steve’s hair. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” he said, and pressed a kiss to his lips that felt like sex and love and all the good stuff– leading everywhere, but also it’s own event. Steve curled his toes and squeezed Billy’s hips. 

After a long few moments, Billy dragged his lips away and looked at him again “How does it feel to be a free man?” 

“I  _ could  _ feel better..” Steve teased. 

“ _ Patience _ – damn, Harrington. I’ve got all day with you…” He sat up, weight on Steve’s hips, his ass just out of reach from the tip of his cock. 

He looked beautiful. The sun was risen enough to fall on Billy, turning his curls and tan skin to glistening gold. His eyes sparkled, his muscles flexed– a trail of dark red hickeys and love bites speckling his chest and neck, all the way down to his hips. 

Steve was so lucky. So goddamn lucky to get to hold this man– to  _ have  _ Billy. To fuck him and love him, and  _ see  _ him. To understand and see past the thorny exterior and find  _ this _ . This incredible, complicated, not-total asshole. He was so lucky to have a group of people that loved him and wanted to celebrate with him and the love of his life. He was  _ so  _ lucky that he’d never have to attend a single class at Hawkins High ever again.  

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Billy smirked, and Steve knew his jaw was slack, his gaze was hazy. 

“I love you.”

The smirk faltered, and Steve really didn’t understand how him saying it still caught the blonde so off guard. The flutter of anxiety in his chest dissipated, though, when Billy leaned back down and kissed him soundly. 

“I’m gonna love you all day long, Steve.” he said, hot again against Steve’s lips, grinding his hips down on his. 

He was so lucky to be so  _ free _ .


	30. A Lot to Learn

When Will finally gets up the courage to talk, to _really_ _talk_ about who he is, he pulls Steve aside and stumbles through the words.

“How did you know you were gay?” He blurts out, and Steve raises his eyebrows and stares at him over his beer can. He can see how scared Will is to say it, though, and gives him a smile.

“I’m not the guy you wanna talk to– It took me one whole month into a relationship with another man for me to figure it out, Byers.” He says dryly, “and I’m not gay, okay? There’s a lot more labels out there then gay and straight. I’m _bisexual_. I like both– like Bowie, he’s the same way.” And Will is like a little sponge, soaking up every word. Steve looks at him for a second and takes him in, and then takes him out to the porch.

Billy’s having a smoke in the mild spring night, looking as pretty as always.

Steve and Billy’s relationship was only ever explicitly acknowledged once or twice, when Steve came out to the group and Billy first started coming to dinner. After that, it was an unspoken fact– Billy and Steve were together. Like Nancy and Jonathan. Like Will hoped that Hopper and his mom would be soon.

Steve and Billy were safe here. No one would judge them, no one would bat an eye to see them sitting close, holding hands, or even kissing. It was normal at their weekly “family dinners”.

That meant Will would be safe here, too. A knot in his chest loosened a little, and Billy grinned at him and Steve when he noticed them. Steve looked at Will expectantly, like “ _this is the guy– ask all the questions you want._ ”. 

And then he was gone, giving the two a little privacy.

Will asked it again, and every time he said the words it got easier “How did you know you were gay?”

Billy took a long drag and exhaled smoke through another grin, softer this time. Billy’s got a weakness for Will Byers. Maybe he knew this was coming.

“Step into my office, kiddo.” He gestured at the concrete porch step, dropping to sit there and patting the spot next to him.

“I think I.. I think I’ve always known, you know? And I thought about telling Jonathan, but…”

“But he won’t understand.” Billy nodded “And don’t go to Harrington, either, at least not with the specifics– he’s a still a moron when it comes to this gay shit, and he’s not even really gay, you know? If you’ve got a question, I’m your guy.”

Will just nods, knowing better than to question the older boy. Not to mention that this is the most he’s heard Billy say that wasn’t for the purpose of making fun of someone. He just nods and waits, because he knows that he’s gonna get an answer to his question.

“I was about your age when I figured myself out– wait. How old’re you?”

“13.”

Billy nodded “So yeah, close enough. An’ I was on my way home from school when I stumbled into the wrong neighborhood– where the  _queers_ were. Which is really everywhere in South Cali, but whatever. I was told to not go there. But, within ten fucking seconds, I saw the prettiest lady I’d ever seen– all done up and wearin’ some sparkly dress and shit. So, I followed her into this dirty little club and…. D’you know what a drag queen is?” Will shakes his head, and the older boy claps him on the shoulder “You’ve got a lot to learn, Pal.”

And Billy just talks, and talks, more than Will had ever heard him say. He was calm and nostalgic, a glow in his eyes as he talked about the men that showed him the magic of a little lipstick and how to navigate the underbelly of San Diego. He learned how to stay safe, who to trust. It gave him somewhere to go when his parents fought, and when his mom died.

Well, he didn’t  _say_ all of that with words, but Will just knew. He was a perceptive kid, and he understood needing an escape from a dad that hurts you. 

Will doesn’t have anymore questions, but Billy gives him a rundown. 

“One more thing–” he finally wrapped up when Joyce called them into the house “It’s not a _safe_ community. People are getting sick, and I’ve got three golden rules: No needles, no sharing drinks, no sex with someone you don’t trust. Hopefully, by the time you’re all grown up, things’ll be better. But, don’t be stupid, okay? You hear me?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded, wide eyed “Yeah, I hear you.” 

Billy’s snuffing out his cigarette butt while Will heads for the house. 

“Billy?” 

“Yeah, Kid?”

“Thanks. I know you don’t like talking about your past and stuff…”

The older boy shrugged, grabbing the door for him “Don’t mention it, twerp.” he cleared his throat, and ruffled his hair.


	31. Everybody Needs a Mom

For a long while, it felt as if nothing could go right in the Wheeler house. Nancy broke up with Steve, Mike was plagiarizing papers and getting angrier, Ted was… Ted.

Karen had been tired for a long time, so when everything started to slip back into place, it was the ultimate comfort. Like being hugged my her mother back when she was a little girl. The kids were campaigning in the basement– a couple new friends as well, Max and Jane– and Nancy was going out with Jonathan for the evening.

Ted was sleeping in the recliner still, but the lawyer she had gone to see in Indianapolis said that that didn’t have to happen for much longer if she was serious about divorce. A tentative, nervous freedom was stirring in her as she weighed her options, but Karen would take her time and think it through.

She was lost in thought while cleaning the kitchen on that mild summer night when the doorbell rang. And then rang and rang and rang again, and her skin prickled with irritation when Ted didn’t even shift in his sleep. Karen opened the door without a single idea of what to expect.

And for a moment, she had deja vu– the jacket was denim instead of leather this time, his shirt was tight, but the toned, tanned skin of his chest was covered. Billy Hargrove was a very handsome young man, Karen had to acknowledge it. Every weekend that the kids were campaigning, the blonde would come by to pick up his sister. 10:30 pm, sharp.

The first time he’d rung her doorbell, Karen was ashamed at how taken in she’d been. He was a goddamn teenager– the same age as her own daughter– and there was Karen, blushing and fawning under that effortless charm and pretty smile. She wasn’t sure she’d ever reconcile to herself the way she had acted.

The second time he’d come to pick up Max, Karen was just about too embarrassed to look at Billy that whole time he was there.

But after that– when she started seeing that lawyer and her kids started to settle back into their lives, and Karen started regaining control– she started to notice certain things about the blonde boy. What kind of mother could he possibly have? That would be okay with the smoking, and the hickeys on his neck, and the bruises. Those angry-looking, fist shaped marks and busted knuckles.

If Karen ever caught Mike with a cigarette, she didn’t even know what she’d do, she… She didn’t want to judge Mrs. Hargrove, but Karen’s sixth sense for telling when something was wrong went haywire when Billy came by. Especially that night, when Billy was on her doorstep at 9:45 instead of 10:30.

At first, there was deja vu, seeing that dashing smile and golden curly hair. But, something was wrong, maybe even more than usual. His smile was a little too forced, his blue eyes were shifty and nervous. He looked young and scared, somewhere deep down.

“Billy! You’re a little early, aren’t you?” She smiled, beckoning the boy in as she spoke.

He shrugged, taking one last drag and butting his cigarette before shooting her his flirtiest grin.

It was a flimsy cover. There were circles under his eyes.

“My dad’s all pissed about something, told me to come get her.” He tried to shrug it off, but his knuckles were bloody again, and it might have been her imagination, but he also seemed to wince when his shoulders were jostled by his movement.

Karen nodded with some detached sense of understanding “Well, she’s still down playing with the others, I’ll call down to her to wrap it up.” She didn’t move though, stuck in a half-aborted thought. She didn’t want Max to go back to that house. She didn’t want Billy to go back to his “pissed” dad. “Would you… How ‘bout a coke or something? It always takes them a little while.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, blindsided for a second, and Karen just hoped and hoped for his answer.

“Yeah, thanks.” A tight little nod from the kid, and she felt like she could breathe again.

“Us moms have really appreciated you this past week, y'know. Driving the kids to the arcade while Steve is out of town.” She kept up the conversation while sitting Billy down at the kitchen island, grabbing a coke can from the fridge. She didn’t call down to the kids, but if the boy noticed, he didn’t mention it.

He gave another pained shrug, covering for it with a shiny white smile. “It’s no problem, Mrs. Wheeler.”

Usually, she would fall for it, like she was sure everybody else did, and that only served to worry her more.

The silence hung between them, and Karen wracked her brain for something to say, trying to keep Billy right there at her kitchen island, where it was safe. Then, she saw it, and an angry, deep-seated fire started up in her gut, burning through her thoughts until all she could do was gasp and say “Oh honey, what happened to you?”

There was a bruise on his neck– not the hickeys that he usually had, she wouldn’t care about those. It was just the starts of it, pink turning to red. There were faint fingerprints and just under his Adam’s apple a bigger mark.

Like a handprint. Like someone had held this boy– this poor teenage boy who usually came off older than his seventeen years, looking like a scared little boy while sipping a coke and waiting for his sister– by his fucking throat. How “pissed” was his dad? How many bruises had been from teenage roughhousing like he claimed, and how many times had she seen real injuries and been naive? Let him go back to an abuser?

“Oh, this?” He talked about it like he did all the rest of them, so nonchalant and fake “just a scrap a few days ago– you oughta see the other guy, Mrs. W.” Then there was a cheeky wink, even as he tried to cover the marks with his jacket collar.

She’d love to see the other guy. She’d love to look Mr. Hargrove in the eye and ask how he thought a true parent was supposed to behave.

Karen thought about Nancy, how she’d first tried to breach the topic when things were going wrong– when poor Barbra went missing, when she’d first met Steve. Karen had felt like she was losing her girl, she’d lashed out. Nancy had shut down.

She took in Billy’s carefully constructed expression, tense posture, his grip on the coke can.

She couldn’t lash out. She shouldn’t even be concerning herself with this– where the hell was Billy’s mom?

But she couldn’t just ignore it– not while this poor boy lived in fear.

She calmed herself down with a deep breath and put a hand on top of Billy’s on the countertop. He didn’t pull away, but the smile melted off his face. His jaw was clenched.

“Billy, is everything okay at home?”

“What’s it to you?” It didn’t take longer than a second for the entire mood to change. It was like the house got colder, and Billy was staring at her with these piercing blue eyes.

“It’s not hard to see that you’re struggling– a mother knows, Honey.” She forged ahead, even when Billy’s face twisted into a sour expression. He barked a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t know much about that, Lady.” He tugged his hand out of hers and stood back from the island, snarling “Maybe you should keep your 'mothering’ to your own fucking kids.”

“I just want you to be safe. Billy, you and Max deserve a safe place–”

“Max? Oh please– he’d never lay a fucking finger on Susan’s child.” He spat “Just don’t even bother, Karen. Nobody else does.” He hissed out the words, but even as he said it, she could see that he was lying.

She knew that Billy was there on Fridays, when Nancy and Mike went over to Will’s for dinner. She knew Joyce, especially after all she’d been through with Lonny, could probably see this too. Billy was either hiding this really well, or he’d had this conversation before.

“I just… okay. I’m going to get Max, honey. You… you come here when you need somebody, Billy. Everyone needs a mom..”

For a minute, he just looked at her like she was the one holding him by the throat. Then, he looked almost like he had something to say. As if he was going to lean on her, let her hold him close and keep him safe now that his mom evidently couldn’t. There was no comfort quite like a mother’s protection.

“Yeah, well not everybody gets one.” He croaked, turning on his heel and stalking to the door. He already had a cigarette in his mouth, ready to light up when he glanced back at her.

The door slammed behind him, and she went to get Max.

“But he’s fifteen minutes early!” She cried as she stomped up the stairs, but Karen mind was busy swirling in the concern and confusion of the last few minutes.

“He mentioned that it was your dad– he wants you home.”

“Neil’s not my dad.” She huffed, glaring at her like the tension from earlier still hung in the room. Karen balked– no one had ever mentioned that to her. She didn’t know the Hargroves were divorced. “Neil’s my stepdad– my real dad still lives in California.”

“What about Billy’s mom?” She heard herself saying without a thought, brow furrowed and maybe thinking that Billy could have a means of escape with his mom.

Max shrugged as if there was nothing to worry about and said “I dunno. He won’t talk about her, though, gets really mad if you try….”

She had so many questions, her heart ached in her chest, and Karen opened her mouth to ask.

And then the blare of a car horn nearly sent them both jumping out of their skin.

Max rolled her eyes “Sorry, he’s not usually this much of an asshole anymore– he just misses Steve and stuff.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize they were friends.”

“Yeah, they’re close…” the horn pierced the air again “I should go, I guess– thanks for having me over, Mrs. Wheeler.”

She out the door in a flash of red hair, and Karen was alone with her comfortable life, feeling less comfortable.


	32. The Haircut

Steve’s dad forces him to cut his hair when he agrees to work for him.

He’s surprised that he manages to make it out of the barbers chair and into his Beemer before bursting into tears.

He avoids  _ everyone _ for the first week– he’d never even told anyone it was happening. It was just all too awful and embarrassing and he missed his “perfect hair”.

He figured that it would be Dustin who would show up first to find out where the Hell he’d gone. The twerp liked to call himself “curious”, Steve called him “fucking nosy”, but he still loved him and stuff.

He was  _ maybe _ even expecting Nancy to show up and check on him. She was smart, she definitely knew something was wrong when he’d called to cancel on her and Jonathan earlier that week. She was still his best friend, and god knows all his friends are ridiculously invasive.

But he hadn’t expected it to be Billy, and he definitely should have.

He figured that cancelling on Billy for that week wouldn’t cause the stir that it did– Billy was too macho and sometimes still tried too hard to be apathetic about their relationship (even though he could also rival Steve for “most cuddle/touch-starved teen in Hawkins”)– but  _ boy  _ did it.

It was Friday. They were supposed to go the Byers for dinner, like they did every Friday.

Steve just couldn’t bring himself to go, the idea made his chest feel tight. All those eyes, all those people. They’d laugh at him, Steve knew it.

Billy knocks on his window with those stupid pebbles from the landscaping by the pool. Even going so far as to hold his breath, Steve hoped he’d think he wasn’t home….

“I know you’re in there, Harrington– your stupid car’s right out front!” He yelled up.

Fuck.

He stomped down the stairs with a hoodie on, as if that would save him.

“What the Hell is this? You’ve been AWOL for a whole week..”

Steve just shrugged, and was trying to think of some kind of excuse, but Billy was smart. Really fucking smart, and he tugged the hood back.

Billy didn’t laugh.

Billy fucking  _ cackled _ . Billy nearly cried he was laughing so hard, and Steve barely resisted the urge to shove his stupid asshole boyfriend into the pool.

“Oh  _ Sweetheart _ – you’ve completed your Yuppie Transformation. Look at that…”

“Fuck you, asshole.” Steve glowered, but he didn’t duck away when the blonde reached out and tugged his fingers through the short strands.

His grin started to fade pretty quick though, and his blue eyes were serious when he looked him straight in the eyes and said “Your dad?”

He already knew the answer, but Steve nodded.

They called Joyce and said they’d be staying back that night. The two boys ordered a pizza and cracked open some beers, and Billy spent the whole duration of a two hour movie stroking his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

“Maybe it’s not too bad…” Billy mumbled, pressing a long, sucking kiss to the nape of Steve’s newly bare neck “Now there’s less hair in the way of this…”

Steve was too busy whimpering at the sensation to properly respond, and chose to mentally agree. For now.

He’d still hate his hair in the morning, but he’d love the hickeys below.


	33. PDA

Billy Hargrove gets all riled up when Steve kisses the back of his neck. It doesn’t matter whether it’s while doing dishes at the Byers house, making coffee at Steve’s, in the shower—  _ anywhere _ . If Steve Harrington brushes the blonde curls off his neck and nips softly at the skin there, Billy starts purring like a kitten.

Hopper’s had to separate them a few times, all “Hey hey! There’s kids around here!” while everyone else is “eww-ing” and laughing. Billy whirls around so fast, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and pushing him against the counter.

In the other places— the locker room, the BMW, every room in the Harrington house (even after they’ve already put in the sheets to be washed after a  _ long _ night)— things end much more happily. But, then they have to clean the kitchen. And the bathroom. And Mr. Harrington’s desk.

It’s worth it.


	34. Cats and Getting Out of Their Bags

Billy had never had a problem keeping his homelife with his dad a secret– except for that short little moment after his mom died, but that’s beside the point.

The point was that he had been so good at keeping people at arms length for so long that it wasn’t even a thought anymore. It was automatic for him to lash out at strangers, or anyone who asked any real questions. He was doing fine until Steve Harrington came along.

Until he saw the bruises and started asking questions.

Until he pressed Billy down into his ridiculously soft mattress in his ugly, yuppie bedroom and kissed every inch of black and blue flesh. Billy was helpless under Steve.

Once the dinners started, he was expecting to hate it. He didn’t want to spend time with his dumb stepsister (even if they kind of got along now) or her little friends or the fucking  _ chief of police _ …. he wasn’t expecting to like them. And Billy sure as Hell hadn’t been expecting them to like him back.

He hadn’t had any sort of family since Mom died. And even then, his family hadn’t been her and Neil. It was a home away from home… the Byers house actually reminded him of it a little bit.

He was amazed– a little scared– by how quickly he thawed under the attention of Steve and Joyce and Will. The chief smoked terrible cigs, but he was the kind of man that Billy would have wanted to be his dad.

Billy was willingly doing the dishes, offering Hopper a light, teaching his sister and her curly haired little friend (Ellie? Ella?) how to throw a solid punch. He bantered about The Hobbit with Lucas fucking Sinclair!

He was starting to become unrecognizable to himself. Usually he would shut back off, cut ties and go back to being miserable, hiding the bruises, hiding himself away. But, he liked it too damn much. He loved Steve and his big brown eyes and his wide smile, he loved that he could hold and touch and kiss his boyfriend like they were normal whenever he was there. He loved having a family again.

He should have known it would all come crashing down.

That night, they were a person short for dinner.

“Max, where’s your brother?” Hopper frowned, looking between Max and Steve as they sat down to eat.

Steve was too worried to speak, sputtering a little. He knew that when his boyfriend said he had to “ _ come a little later– Neil wants to have a talk _ ”, it meant bruises and tears and a lot of strife.

Max just shrugged “Neil needed to talk to him about something– said he’d stop by later.” She didn’t know how bad it was, and honestly, Steve didn’t know how such a smart girl could be so damn blind.

He barely ate. He fidgeted and bounced his leg and tugged at his bottom lip in that way that he had. Every shadow outside the window and every noise near the door made Steve perk up, waiting for Billy to come through the door and give him proof of life.

Nancy kept kicking him under the table, shooting him worried looks.

“Are you okay, Steve?” Will finally piped up, his eyes wide with concern in that adorable, earnest way that he did.

He nodded jerkily, about to spout some stupid lie that none of them would believe, when a pair of headlights and a knock at the door came and saved him.

He launched out of his seat, yanking the door open to take in the sight of Billy on the other side.

It was bad. Really bad, worse than usual. Neil must’ve been seeing red to leave bruises on Billy where they would show. The rapidly darkening mark blooming over his cheekbone looked like it had its own pulse. Blood oozed from his split bottom lip. His blue eyes were glassy and rimmed red.

“ _ Baby _ …” he exhaled, taking Billy by the wrist and pulling him inside. He didn’t miss the way the blonde winced, but he’d done this a few times now. Steve knew what Billy needed.

Billy choked on a moan and a sob as Steve gingerly wrapped his arms around him and hugged him close. He did his best to bury his busted up face in Steve’s neck while the brunette tangled his fingers in his hair. They stood in the front room like that for a long few moments, and Steve hid the other boy as best he could from the prying eyes of the curious friends that were starting to get up from the table.

“Would you two quit making out and get in here– oh  _ shit _ .” Dustin’s voice shattered the moment, and then they heard Joyce’s small gasp. Even if they couldn’t see his face, Billy was shaking like a leaf in a storm, gripping tight to the back of Steve’s shirt.

“What the Hell happened?” Mike called in from the dining room, the sound of chairs being pushed back and people coming in filling the air.

Steve cleared his throat, finding his voice after a second “Joyce, could you bring the first aid kit into the bathroom, please?” He made eye contact with no one as he shuffled the hunched form of his boyfriend off into the little bathroom.

Closing the door was like lifting a weight off of them both. No more heavy stares.

The ritual of inspecting and cleaning up Billy’s injuries was one that they did in silence. Joyce brought in the first aid kit, and her eyes looked suspiciously wet when she saw the damage. She gasped, a muttered “oh  _ honey _ ” slipping out of her lips before Steve could usher her back out.

Between the two of them, they managed to get Billy’s shirt off, revealing a hideously dark mess of black and blue around his lower ribs.

The rage and desperation and panic fluttering in Steve’s chest made his throat tight and his face feel hot.

Joyce was keeping her face as neutral as she could, but still gave her head a little shake. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she looked like she wanted to kill Neil Hargrove as much as she had wanted to kill the Mind Flayer.

“Who did this to you, Billy?” Her voice was still pretty soft, and he leaned into her hand on his shoulder. He looked exhausted, but he didn’t say a thing.

Billy never said outright that it was his dad that hurt him. He never even breathed his name. Steve didn’t understand.

“What did he want to talk about?” He ground out, rubbing a bruise cream into the tender skin. Billy hissed.

“Who?” Joyce latched on, looking imploringly at Steve.

“Me. Being a  _ faggot _ . Maybe he just had a bad day…” He spat out the words, digging in his pocket for a smoke and lighting it with a flick of his wrist. The spark was still low in his blue eyes, still watery and shaken up. He squeezed Steve’s hand in the one of his that wasn’t cradling his cig. “ _ Fuck him _ , I hate him… I hate who he turns me into, I fucking  _ hate _ this, Steve.” His chin trembled, the words gushing out of his mouth like he couldn’t control it. Joyce went to get him a shirt to wear, and Steve held Billy while he cried again.

Steve used to think that he was supposed to reply when Billy said shit like this, he used to try to think of something to say, but now he knew better. Billy wasn’t looking for answers, he was just actually feeling vulnerable enough to vent some things that he’d never say otherwise. He just needed to cry it out and have a warm, loving body to hold him while he did.

Steve was happy to be that body.

He was still holding the crying blonde when Joyce came back, holding a flannel that was way too big to be Jonathan’s (it actually looked a lot like Hopper’s).

By the time they stepped back out into the living room and sat on the couch, Billy was numb and silent.

No one really knew what to do. They were all in a big clump by the dining room table. Nancy couldn’t even look at them, and neither could Eleven, but Jonathan and Mike couldn’t stop staring. Most of them couldn’t stop staring. Joyce held tight to Will, and Lucas had an arm around Max. She was crying. 

“Billy, c'mon Kiddo. Look at me…” Hopper knelt in front of the two boys, a hand on Billy’s knee and his ” _ Chief of Police _ “ face on. “Anything broken?”

Billy shrugged.

“Who hurt you, Billy?” He tried again “I can help you.”

That got him a bitter bark of a laugh that clawed at something deep in Steve’s chest. Hopper looked taken aback. 

“I’m the Chief of Police, Hargrove, if anyone’s going to be able to get him out of your life, it’s me.” he said with more vigor “All you need to do is tell me that it was your dad, and I’ll go get him. We’ll take a statement, get pictures of your injuries, and–”

“You people are all talk.  _ Fuck that _ .” Billy spat “As if I haven’t tried– you know who let me down?  _ You people _ . All you fuckin’ liars with your hero complexes and your half-assed interest in my shitty life. Where were you four years ago? I’ve only got a year before I graduate and get the Hell out of this shithole. Fuck you and your promises.” there were tears welling up in his eyes again, his rage and some old, forgotten betrayal crackling in the air. Jim looked pale. 

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t romantic. It was abuse. 

Billy’s anger was like blowing up a balloon and then letting it go and fly around the room, screaming until it deflated. He wasn’t ever going to be the “ _ what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger _ ” type of abuse victim that people like to covet for “ _ rising above _ ” their situation. Billy was angry and repressed and bruised to the fucking bone. He was hurt somewhere deep and intangible that took decades of love and care to heal. Like a  _ soul _ or something. 

“Billy, c’mon–!” Max started in, but she was cut off when Joyce shushed her. 

“It’s okay, honey.” she took the seat on the couch beside him and took his hand “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can stay here tonight– no, everyone’s staying here tonight. And you sleep on the idea, and let me and Hop know in the morning what you want us to do.” 

It was amazing how Billy was soothed under her touch, her words. Steve didn’t know much of what had happened to Billy’s mom, but he knew he had a soft spot a mile wide for Joyce Byers. He couldn’t stay mad while facing down her gentle reassurances and maternal little smile. 

Steve just laid his head on the blonde’s shoulder, kissing the flannel over the skin. 

Billy squeezed the hand that was cradled in both of Steve’s. 

“We’re a family in this house, Kiddo.” Joyce continued “We’re here to keep you safe– dads aren’t supposed to hit you, and moms are supposed to stick around, and family is supposed to support you.”

She held him and let him tremble and cry and break down. Steve rubbed his back slow and soft. Hopper set everyone to work calling their folks to tell them they’d be staying the night and setting up bedding. 

The privacy was something Billy would appreciate when he was more himself in the morning.  

The couch was set up for Billy and Steve, and sleeping bags and bedding were piled up on the floor in Will’s room for the kids. The rusty old pullout was more than enough for the two boys, who curled around each other in the dark and fell asleep with tears sliding down their cheeks, pressing kisses into fist-shaped bruises.


	35. Billy and Max

Max woke up early, and it took a few long seconds for her to remember where she was and what had happened.

She was on Will’s floor in an old sleeping bag, Lucas’s fingers loosely wrapped around hers- just the way they had fallen asleep. He’d been comforting her.

Billy had come to dinner late, beaten to Hell. He had cried, he had actually _cried_. Neil was worse than just the asshole stepdad she thought he was— her stomach flipped and her eyes welled up again, even though they still stung from the tears she’d shed last night. For her brother, so ashamed that she hadn’t even _noticed_ _this_ — hadn’t noticed _anything_ , really.

She needed to move, her body twitched with the desire to get up, to find Billy. Part of her still hoped it was all some twisted dream. The same way she’d felt about demogorgens, once upon a time.

Slipping out of her sleeping bag without waking Lucas or El or the other boys, Max crept out into the hall to the living room— the clock said 5:45. The sun was already hot, turning the sheer curtains to gold.

Steve was dead to the world on the pull out sofa, snoring softly into the pillows. Usually she’d laugh, take note to make fun of him later, but there was one thing that stole her attention.

Steve was alone.

Billy was nowhere to be found— there hadn’t been anyone in the bathroom when she’d passed, the bed was empty, no one was in the kitchen or dining room. Had he ditched? He seemed pretty mad the night before. How scared was he of Neil? Would he go back to the house?

Her mind suddenly racing, Max didn’t think twice before she unlocked and jerked open the front door for a glimpse at the camaro, hoping against hope that it was still there.

Even better, there was Billy, sat on the front step. Max breathed out hard and fixed her brother with a look as he turned to see her there. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips.

It wasn’t a dream— the bruise on his cheek was a hideous mottled purple, red and blue. There were a few marks that she hadn’t seen the night before and she took careful note of all of them as she sat beside Billy on the stoop of the Byers house.

The sun was so strong, she could almost believe she was home, back in California. Billy must have been thinking the same, his face tilted up to the hot rays with eyes closed as he took a long drag on his cigarette.

Maybe he was just trying to pretend she wasn’t there.

She hadn’t even paid enough attention to notice that Neil was beating his own son right  _ in her house _ — no wonder Billy had been such an asshole to her for so long. She wouldn’t want to see her either, if she was him. 

The “I’m sorry” that she wanted to say didn’t quite make it out of her mouth, though. The silence was as heavy as the heat, and she didn’t want to break it.

Billy seemed so fragile. So likely to snap, and at the same time, calm. She used to be afraid of these times, but now she understood. Billy was different than he had been all those months ago— he was her real brother now, and Max wasn’t going to let herself be scared. Her brother needed help and she wanted to understand.

“Spit it out or go back to bed.” Billy rumbled, not bothering to look at her.

“I woke up and you were gone.”

“Where’d you think I went?” he scoffed “ _ Home _ ?”

He said it with such derision that Max winced.

The silence hung over them again for a short while that felt very long.

She hadn’t expected the Indiana summers to be so humid. So hot. It was barely 6 o clock.

“Why didn’t you tell Hopper? Last night, why didn’t you tell him it was Neil that hurt you?” She finally said, putting words to the question that had burned in her mind all night long.

Billy took another drag and looked straight ahead at the camaro. At the road.

“Billy?”

“Mind your own business,  _ Maxine _ .” He spat, more venom in it then she’d been prepared for.

“My own  _ business _ ?” She shot back “I live with him too, I didn’t even… you  _ are _ my business, Asshole! This was happening in my own house— I could report him myself!”

“Shut the  _ fuck _ up.” Billy’s voice was a measured hiss, but his hand came to slam on the planks of the porch between them, a crack in the morning quiet. It must’ve hurt the bruises and cuts over his knuckles, but Billy didn’t flinch.

He was looking at her now, and it was scary again, but not for the usual reasons.

His eyes were wild and desperate, still red rimmed from last night. It made the blue look extra bright and glassy, and the bruising around them made for an unforgettable picture.

Suddenly, her own eyes were welling up again, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

“I’m so  _ sorry _ , Billy.” slipped out without her thinking, and part of her thought he was about to scream, or laugh, or say something cruel because he was definitely still angry as Hell about it. He knew what she was sorry for, he had to.

He didn’t accept it— she didn’t really expect him to, but she was still shocked when he held her gaze, snubbed out his cig and took her hand with the one that he’d battered against the porch. He squeezed her hand and it felt like a comfort.

“Promise me you won’t get involved.” He finally said.

“ _ What _ ?” Max shook herself out of her momentary haze “Billy, I can’t just do nothing-!”

“ _ Don’t _ . Don’t fucking get involved, Max. Just don’t do a damn thing, and you won’t get hurt, just… As long as Susan’s there, you’re safe.”

He looked away toward the road again, spitting out the words like they hurt to say, but he still held onto her hand. It was a protective, intense grip.

“Promise me, Max.”

She gave a jerky nod and muttered “yeah, whatever.” just as the door opened behind them.

Joyce was there, looking tired and kind as usual.

“You’re up early.” She smiled “C’mon— coffee’s on and there’s juice in the fridge. Jonathan’s gonna make some breakfast.” She stretched out a hand a beckoned them over “It’s too hot out here.”

If it were anyone else— except Steve, obviously— Max thought Billy would refuse. Just to be obstinate, or to have another cigarette, or something. But, Joyce Byers had the funniest effect on Billy, almost like Steve did, but different. Something that made him softer.

He led the way back into the little house, even letting Joyce rest a hand on his shoulder briefly as he passed.

“How’re you feelin’ Sweetheart?” She whispered as they all sat at the kitchen table. The shower was running— must have been Jonathan— and the Chief fumbled around with mugs for the coffee, his own morning cigarette between two fingers. Billy sat a little straighter and the tension came back to his shoulders.

“You don’t have to whisper for Steve’s sake, Joyce. I’ve never met such a heavy sleeper.” He said, not responding to her actual question.

She noticed, glancing over and sharing a look with Hopper. Max just drank the orange juice put in front of her and waited.

There was silence for a few moments, and everyone sipped their coffee. The air was thick with tension. Joyce watched Billy with big, nervous eyes glued to the bruises across his face. Hopper tried not to look, but he was. Billy gripped his mug like he was trying to shatter it.

“Jesus, could you people stop fucking  _ staring? _ !” Billy finally snapped “If you want a better look, go ahead— you clearly want to.”

Hopper was unfazed, but Joyce jumped a little before getting up from her seat and rounding the table. She examined the nasty mark on his face and almost reached out to touch.

She thought better of it, but still stroked Billy’s hair off his forehead and said “That looks like it hurts, Hon. How’re the rest of them?”

Max felt colder all of a sudden “The  _ rest _ of them? How far do they go?” she piped up, just as Jonathan came in, toweling his hair.

He did nothing more than smile at all of them and mutter a quiet “Good morning”. He didn’t look too long at Billy, and Max wished she had his self control.

“None of your b—“ he started, and Max went from cold to hot from her ears to her toes.

“If you say it’s none of my business, Asshole, I swear—“

“Swear what,  _ Maxine _ ? You gonna beat me up?” He gestured to his eye, sounding like every inch the douchebag she used to know, just for that minute.

No one said anything then. The only sounds were of Jonathan scrambling eggs and getting out the cereals.

Hopper took a long drag on his cigarette, then his coffee. He set the mug down with a thump and ran a hand down his face before breaking the quiet with what they all knew had to be said.

“I gotta get down to the station, kid. In a few hours, at least— are you comin’ with? We could file some paperwork and get you somewhere safe.” He said it already knowing the answer, but Max still found herself biting back a curse when Billy replied.

“I think I’ll pass, Chief.” He said it like it meant nothing to him– like he didn’t even care that this would just keep happening until Neil fucking killed him. The thought seemed terrifyingly possible, and she wished Lucas was there. 

Billy sipped his coffee and licked his raw, split lip.

Hopper nodded, but Joyce clearly wasn’t satisfied. Maybe she was thinking the same thing Max was.  

“Honey, I understand— not everything, no one will ever understand everything—“ She amended quickly at Billy’s dryly lifted brow (the kind that said “Yeah sure, heard that one before.”) “but I know what it’s like to feel trapped. In that type of, um, of situation. You’re not alone, Billy.” She cradled his bruised hands and smiled at him sadly, and Max couldn’t imagine what kind of lowlife would ever hurt Joyce Byers.

Hopper took a slightly more aggressive pull on his smoke.

Billy almost looked like he’d been swayed, just for a moment, just so maybe he could go murder whoever hurt this kind, weathered woman.

But, he remained infuriatingly stubborn. 

“I’m so close to getting out— without anymore bullshit. No paperwork, no bureaucratic fuckers sticking their hands in my life. It’ll only make it worse!”

“Billy, please!” Max finally said.

“No! No way!”

The quiet was only broken by the sizzle of the pan then. Joyce studied the broken, busted skin of Billy’s knuckles. The Chief watched Joyce with a soft expression on his grim face. Max felt hopelessness carve out a place in her chest.

“Why don’t you take some pictures?” Jonathan’s voice was small— he had such a quiet way about him.

Billy frowned “For what? I’m not your art project, Byers—“

“For a file, Jerk.” the other teen cut him off “You don’t have to file any charges, but document these injuries in case you end up  _ needing _ to file them later.”

“ _ Needing  _ to?” Billy sneered “I just said I was fine, it’s fine!” 

“You’re not this much of an idiot!” Jonathan said, surprising everyone. “What if he puts you in the hospital? Probably wouldn’t be the first time, am I right?” he paused for a yes or no, but Billy just glared at him “What if he hurts Max? Then you’d want to get him out of there, right?” 

“He’d never touch  _ Max _ –”

“But what if he does– does  _ any  _ of that?” Hopper cut in, putting out a hand to diffuse some of the crackle in the air between the two boys “Kiddo, if the worst happens, you’re gonna want some solid evidence to show in court. This is a good idea– I know I’d feel a helluva lot better if you did  _ at least _ this.” 

Joyce put a hand on his shoulder “Just in case. It’ll be good to have,  _ just in case _ . Please, Billy.” 

There was a beat where everyone seemed to hold their breath. 

“Okay.” 

And, exhale. 

After that, everything happened pretty quickly– in case Billy changed his mind, she suspected. Jonathan got his camera, and they decided to do them right there against the plain kitchen wall. No one was really awake yet anyway. 

Billy kept glancing over to the living room, fidgeting, eyes downcast. 

Max did something then, something that would either be appreciated or despised. 

Slipping back into the living room, she crept up to the pull out sofa and woke up Steve. It was no easy feat– she tried lightly jostling him, whispering his name, and she was full on shaking him by the time the teenager finally got the hint and woke up. 

“Whu-? What the Hell?” he sputtered, eyes barely open. 

Everyone in the carpool knew Steve needed at least two cups of coffee before he could be considered a living person. But Max knew better– all she had to say was “Billy needs you right now.”, and there were two, almost completely alert brown eyes looking back at her. 

Billy smiled when he saw Steve. The brunette beelined right for him, taking his his hand and mumbling a “good morning”, heads close together. 

Max hung back in the threshold, staring in horror. 

Billy’s shirt was off, Jonathan looked to be two or three pictures in, and whatever bandages or anything that had been put on Billy’s injuries were gone. 

It was terrible. The entirety of his chest was black and blue, and one in particular looked startlingly like an actual boot print. There were cuts and scratches from where he must’ve been pushed and pulled from place to place. 

She didn’t know how she could ever keep quiet. How could she do  _ nothing _ ? 

Steve seemed mostly unfazed– fidgeting, sipping a coffee and running his hand lightly across Billy’s abdomen. He asked how he was feeling, said that they’d put more cream on those bruises when they got all the pictures they needed.  

He’d dealt with this before. How many times? 

Max was too angry and sad and ashamed to think beyond her own heartbeat– she didn’t hear the others coming down the hall. 

“Holy  _ shit _ , dude.” came Dustin’s voice, and Billy’s expression shut down even further under the new scrutiny. 

Dustin, Will and El filed into the kitchen, Nancy not far behind. They all looked more than a little pained, but El especially. She had pursed lips and her big eyes roved over Billy’s body, no doubt cataloging every mark on him.

“What’s going on?” She asked, fixing Hopper with her deep gaze. 

“The kid doesn’t want to press charges, so we’re documenting the injuries in case he changes his mind.” 

“Press charges?” she looked confused, and Will explained to her. 

“You’re seriously not getting that asshole put away?!” Dustin exclaimed, and if Mike and Lucas weren’t awake before, they probably were then. 

Billy had balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth. 

“Hey– mind your own business. It’s his decision.” Steve snapped, handing his boyfriend his shirt to put back on. 

“But Steve, you can’t actually be okay with this!”

“Are you deaf? It’s his decision– that means  _ not mine _ .” 

Billy’s face went white with pain as he stretched his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, but he swatted Steve’s hands away when he tried to help. “I thought you didn’t even like me, Henderson.” the blonde tried to joke, sitting back down at the table.

“Yeah, but… I mean, Steve does.” the boy stumbled through. “Maybe you don’t totally suck.” 

“I’m fucking flattered.” Billy deadpanned. 

Somehow, breakfast was almost okay. Lucas sat next to Max, Billy right across the table. 

She wanted to strangle him, but also beg him to take action. She barely ate her Frosted Flakes, busy stealing glances at her brother every few minutes. He didn’t seem to be too hungry either, swirling his eggs around on his plate. 

People chatted about menial things, as if that would make this any more normal. Or any less stomach churning and terrible. 

“Alright kid,” Hopper finally stood, quieting Dustin and Mike’s talk about Star Wars weaponry and Nancy’s conversation about colleges with Joyce. “I’m leaving for the station. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, Chief. I’m  _ fine _ .” Billy ground out, all eyes on him. 

Hopper took his time getting set to go and walking out to the truck. Max watched Billy as he and Steve sat across the table from her. Billy glared into his eggs and Steve watched with wide, worried eyes out the window where Hopper had gone. They held hands like they would disappear if one of them let go. 

A weight settled over the table, saddling itself to Max’s heart. It was fear– something every one of them was more than familiar with. It was the fear of something terrible left unfinished. Max couldn’t shake it– this was going to get worse before it got better. 

This wasn’t over yet. 

 

 


	36. Billy and El

Things settled after  _ The Sleepover _ , as it became known. 

No one was happy about it– least of all Billy, who was swallowing down a sneer each time one of the Party or Hopper or even Nancy and Jonathan would look him over. Like they were checking for injuries or something. Steve could feel the tension, his boyfriend’s crackling irritable energy whenever they crossed the threshold for “Family dinner”. It made him fidget, and he’d squeeze Billy’s hand every time, trying to say _ it’s just cus they care, they want you to be safe _ . 

It subsided after a week or two. Billy got used to the glances and awkward moments. 

At least, he thought he had. But, that little El girl had tried every last bit of his patience. There were no quick glances with her– she  _ stared _ . She stared at him from the moment he walked in the door, all through most of dinner, every second. Not just at dinner, but when he picked the twerps up from their nerdy  _ campaigns _ , and every time he saw her. He could feel those big saucer eyes on him, like she was seeing right through him. It made his stomach tie up in knots with an emotion he couldn’t quite describe. The prickle of annoyance was familiar, but there was something about the curly haired little thing that he couldn’t think of the words for. 

All he knew was that it needed to stop– he couldn’t hold back this feeling much longer, and he really didn’t want to snap on the Chief’s daughter. No one would tell him what happened, but it didn’t take a genius to see that something was wrong with her. 

It finally happened on a Wednesday night. It was clear and starry, and the heat of the blistering summer day still hung in the air like it had risen up from the baked earth. 

No surprise, he’d had a fight– his ribs had still throbbed from two weeks ago, from the  _ really  _ bad night, and  _ now _ … it hurt to breathe more than a little bit. 

All he wanted was Steve. He’d parked his car at the usual spot on the side of the road and started walking. The woods were alive with crickets and owls and all that noise, and it was calming. A few tears rolled down his cheeks as his heartbeat returned to somewhat normal and the pain in his chest really set in. It wasn’t fair that it hurt as badly as it did. Neil got a solid hit on him two or three times, that was  _ it _ . 

The noises of the forest faded into a pleasant hum as he trod the familiar path to Steve’s backdoor, and he was maybe halfway there when he heard it. 

The snap of a twig behind him. 

He whirled around– regretting it when the movement jarred his ribs and left him breathless. Insult was added to injury when all he found behind him was a little fucking  _ girl _ . Not just a girl. El, the Chief’s kid. 

“Whu- What the Hell, Kid?” He stumbled into the words, not even sure where to start. 

She just stood there, bringing a whole new meaning to the concept of a deer in headlights. 

“El. It’s El, right?” he talked normally, he  _ knew  _ she  _ understood  _ him (even though she spent most dinners pretty quiet), and waited for her stilted nod “What’re you doin’ out here?”  

She was silent again for a long few seconds, and Billy sighed only to wince at the shooting pain it caused. 

“You’re hurt.” she said, as if he didn’t know that “I followed you.” 

Billy nodded slowly, somehow more calm about this than he ever thought he would be after finding a little girl randomly following through the woods to his boyfriend’s house “ _ Yeah _ , okay.” 

There was silence again, just the comically loud crickets and the soft breeze in the trees. She was staring at him. 

“Ya know,  _ El _ , it’s pretty rude to stare. Anybody ever teach you that?” he snapped, ignoring the scream of pain in his chest when he crossed his arms. 

She shook her head absently, distracted “Don’t do that– you’re  _ hurt _ .” she said again, and he hated that she could just  _ see  _ that. 

“ _ What would you know about it _ ?” his voice was harsh, his patience wearing thin “I  _ know  _ I’m hurt, I’m on my way to take care of it– okay?  _ Happy _ ?” 

Her little brow wrinkled, like she was confused, like Steve used to get in their English class. She stepped towards him until she was looking right up at him “No.” she replied, as if it was ridiculous that he would ask her if she was happy with that. 

Okay– what the Hell happened to this kid? Billy had always known that something was a little off, but what the  _ Hell _ ? Steve had said she was a foster child, that Hopper adopted her so she wouldn’t be taken away again. But Steve never seemed to tell him  _ everything  _ when it came to these people.

“Yeah… Where’s the Chief? How’d you get yourself all the way out here?” he said, desperate to leave, but he couldn’t just ditch a kid out in the woods. Especially his sister’s friend. That would be shitty. 

She didn’t answer his question with more than “Home is over that way” and pointed in the opposite direction as Steve’s, deeper into the woods. 

He nodded, scrambling for something to say under her deep gaze. 

“My papa used to hurt me too.” She beat him to it, sending him reeling at the thought. 

“What?” it had been said to lightly, like it was just a fact of her life and she didn’t know anything else. 

“My papa used to hurt me. Like yours…” her eyes were wide and innocent, and Billy almost forgot the pain in his sides. He almost forgot about going to Steve’s. He just couldn’t fathom that anyone could ever lay a finger on this girl. 

“Is Hopper better?” was all he could think to say “Is Hopper good to you?” It was all that mattered, really. Did you find someplace safe?

She nodded, a tiny smile quirking her lips. “Jim’s the best.” 

It made something that was tightly coiled and spitting mad soften inside Billy, who found himself so suddenly protective of this girl who he saw all the time, but still hardly knew at all. 

“It makes me mad sometimes. I can hurt people too… I try to protect myself, or Mike, or Will, or… and I hurt people.” 

Billy felt something warm in his chest, a tug in his gut just looking at El, listening as she said more words than he’d ever heard her say. He couldn’t imagine her– a little wisp of a thing, meek and quiet– ever doing any real damage, but there was some power in her gaze that he couldn’t explain. Her eyes were still studying him, watching with such focus. 

“You hurt Steve.” And just like that, it stopped. Like a slap in the face– as if he wasn’t guilty enough. Steve thought he couldn’t see the little moments that he flinched away from him. It rarely happened anymore, but every time stuck out in his memory like barbed wire. “Dustin always says we can’t trust you, because you hurt Steve.” 

Anger bubbled up in Billy’s gut and up his throat like acid– what more did he have to do? He tried so hard to change, to prove himself to the likes of these  _ middle schoolers _ , and what did he get? Henderson was still after him, after all this time, like he didn’t know Billy at all– 

“I think you’re like me.” El cut into his mile-a-minute thoughts, and he actually let out a harsh bark of a laugh. 

“Yeah, I’ve got plenty of things in common with middle school girls–” 

“You’re scared. And angry. And you want to protect yourself.” she didn’t even raise her voice, but she shut him up just fine “I trust you. Steve loves you. Your papa is the bad man, just like mine. That doesn’t make you bad.”

It was hardly the first time that night that Billy had been struck dumb. El just kept looking at him. 

“Well, I… I guess you know me better than I know you…” he finally said, awkwardly grasping for the words. “Thanks, Kid.”

El just smiled up at him. The forest’s noises continued their song, punctuating Billy’s discomfort. She took his hand in her little one and squeezed it, tightly and briefly, before letting go. It felt like a declaration of trust, or maybe like a hug for someone that had too many broken ribs to be hugged properly.  

His eyes felt warm and his vision swam for a moment. Billy blinked rapidly, huffing out a long exhale as he looked out into the gaps of the dark tree trunks and the dappled moonlight. He would rather look at anything in lieu of meeting that penetrating stare. 

And then a thought struck him: If he didn’t know these woods so well, he would be well and truly screwed– it was a labyrinth of trees and brush. Without the familiar path under his feet, Billy would be lost. El seemed to know what she was doing, but something still itched in his brain, demanding that he make sure she was okay. 

“D’you know how to get home from here, or–” he looked back over to where El had been, but found nothing but air. 

The whole ordeal felt fucking weird, settling in his chest like the feeling after an absurd dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, though. Just  _ bizarre _ . 

Somehow, though, he felt a little lighter than before. That night’s fight seemed far away and the coil of anger still in his chest had loosened. He may not be perfect– Hell, he may not even be  _ good _ – but, he didn’t want to be anything like Neil. He took as deep a breath as he could muster with the pain in his ribs, and set off the rest of the way to Steve’s back porch. He felt a little  _ different _ , and it was kinda nice. 


	37. Another Sleepless Night

After months of being woken in the middle of the night by Steve, panting and sweating (sometimes crying, sometimes _screaming_ ) beside him, Billy has had enough.

He still holds him, though, just like every damn time that he trembles and chokes out little hiccuping breaths, coming back to reality from wherever the hell he had been.

“What the hell  _happened to you_ , Steve?” He asks, just like every other time. There’s no answer, just like every other time.

They’d fought about it before.

Every time Steve had a panic attack or a nightmare or whatever the Hell it was, Billy would prod until the brunette would snap out something sharp to get him to leave it alone. Billy would come back with a jab about Steve’s secrets.

They’d fought about it a  _hundred_  times before.

But this time was different. Billy has had it up to  _here_  with the helplessness, the vice-like grip on his heart while Steve shudders apart in his arms. He was sick of not being able to help in any way beyond meager comforts. He’s a not a particularly comforting person.

It went back and forth, back and forth, Steve still sniffling a little and shaking from that night’s attack.

“I just  _can’t_ –!”

“ _Do you not trust me_?!” Billy finally spit out, the words were like acid on his tongue. They’d been sitting in the back of his mind for as long as he could remember giving a shit about Steve fucking Harrington.  _Am I still not good enough for you?_

The other boy’s big brown eyes blinked owlishly in the dark of the room, blindsided by the sudden and real emotion in Billy’s harsh tone.

“N-no, Babe–  _god_ , it’s not that!”

“Then what is it?!” He felt like a raw nerve, exposed and aching. “Am I still not good enough for you and your little club, Harrington?  _King Steve_? You think I can’t fucking tell that I’m the odd man out when we’re at dinner?!  _C'mon_! There’s something, and damn near everybody fuckin’ knows it, but  _me_!” The anger bubbled under his skin, making him itch to move, fight.

And then Steve was grabbing his hands (and when had he curled those into fists?) and squeezing them in his own.

“Jesus, Billy. You know that’s not true! I’m– I’m trying to keep you safe, and you’d…”  _never believe me anyway_. The unspoken words hung in the air. Billy knew this asshole, he could hear all the shit he didn’t say.

He let that silence hang, searching Steve’s tear streaked, exhausted, fucking beautiful face for any type of malice or leftover fear. He was glancing up at Billy periodically from where he still clutched their hands together, fidgeting and squeezing them. His shoulders were tense and, from the outside looking in, it was probably a ridiculous scene: a couple of teenage boys, still naked as the day they were born, all tangled in the sheets and staring at each other so intently.

“Okay.” Billy finally broke the silence, gripping Steve’s hands back and kissing the knuckles “Okay, Pretty Boy– we’re gonna pretend everything’s fine,  _again_ , and I’m gonna make sure you get some sleep,  _but_.” He cupped the brunette’s jaw, forcing him to hold his gaze “ _but_ , tomorrow you’re gonna go to the Byers house and ask Joyce about all this… all these fits and stuff.”

It wasn’t optional.

It had been the compromise the last time that they fought about this, too. And then Steve hadn’t done it. It wasn’t really his fault, but…

“Steve? Sweetheart, are you hearing me?”

“Yeah, yeah Babe. Crystal clear… can we..?” He ran a hand down his face, gesturing vaguely back to the pillows.

If Billy was the type of person to think  _anything_  was cute, he’d think Steve Harrington was  _adorable_.

“You got it, your Highness– c'mere.” Billy opened his arms when he laid back onto the spot that he’d been before, and Steve smiled as he curled up in the space there. His ear went right over Billy’s heart beat, and he sighed against his chest.

“M sorry, Billy….” he mumbled, but Billy just carded his fingers through Steve’s thick hair and sighed.

“Just talk to Joyce, alright?”

They were both dead to the world within just a few more moments.


	38. Relief in the Form of Joyce Byers

It took all of his will power to knock on the door and not run away.

Her car was here– Steve knew she was home. Unless Hop had picked her up, or Jonathan had driven her somewhere, or she was at work, or–

“Steve?” The door opened, and Joyce was standing there with a rapidly fading smile and a quizzical look. He tried to say hi, but when he opened his mouth nothing really came out. He settled for a wave and weak smile.

He definitely looked pretty weird, still dressed in his stupid suit from work. It was 2 pm on a Wednesday, he had called in after his lunch break, Joyce must have better things to do…

This fucking sucked.

“The boys are at school, I–”

“N-No, Joyce. I’m here to talk to you.” He finally forced out, looking pointedly right at her and not down at his fidgeting hands, despite how much he desperately wanted to.

“Oh- okay, Honey. C'mon in…” The surprise was clearly written on her face. Her heavy, concerned gaze followed him as he wiped his dress shoes on the welcome mat.

He froze up a little bit, standing in the entry way with his heart hammering in his chest.

He’d never told anyone about his anxieties before. Before or after the Upside Down came into their lives.

It was just Joyce, right? He’d be okay, right?

He knew that he would when he felt her hand on his back, steering him to sit on the sofa. She rubbed her hand over his tense shoulders and sat beside him, slipping into her maternal role as she catalogued every part of his expression.

Steve let his eyes dart around the room, picking at his nails and bouncing his knee. He didn’t know where to start, where was he supposed to start? They sat in silence for a couple seconds that felt like a long while, and Joyce waited patiently. She rubbed his back and bit her lip against her own anxieties.

“Are you in some kinda trouble, Steve?”

“ _ No _ . No, it’s okay. I don’t mean to…” freak you out, make things difficult, “I’m so  _ sorry _ , I… Billy wanted me to come by.”

“Is he safe?” She said it with such worry that Steve’s heart felt like bursting from the affection. Joyce Byers was too good to them.

“Yeah, yeah– there’s no danger, everything’s…” he wanted to say  _ good _ , it was on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to Joyce like he lied to his own mom. He couldn’t not do what he came here to do. All of a sudden, it was exhausting to hold up the weight of this secret.

For a long time– until he started dating Billy, really– he hadn’t even considered himself to be suffering. He knew something was wrong with him, but he felt fine most of the time.

Joyce waited patiently, and something must’ve shown on his face, because she was rubbing his back again and took his hand in hers.

“Sometimes, I… Ever since the dem..  _ damnit _ ! I’m stupid, this is  _ stupid _ …”

“No, no. Sweetie, what is it?”

She squeezed his hand and held him while he let the last of the damn burst, and his brown eyes got all hot and teary.

His mouth stayed pressed into a firm, anxious line until he absolutely couldn’t handle the building pressure inside him anymore. It all came out in a rush of words.

“I-I get nightmares. Sometimes they’re just like a flashback, though, they can happen while- while I’m a-awake in the middle of the day, too. I can’t remember not having them, I’m pretty sure one of my first fucking memories is a panic attack, but my m-mom told me it was nothing and my dad told me it was weak, and-and–” his breaths were gasping, and at this point there was nothing to do but focus on the warmth of Joyce’s hand through the fabric of his suit to keep from completely shaking apart. He hated himself, he hated this bullshit, and he wished Billy were here–

“Honey, honey, take a breath, it’s–” she tried to start, but he just couldn’t stop now or he’d never say it all.

“They got so bad after the demogorgen shit, and Billy knows something happened. He doesn’t know what, and I can’t just tell him, I  _ can’t _ . But, he doesn’t know it’s not just that– I’m not traumatized by fucking  _ monsters _ , I’m just… just  _ broken _ .”

The silence was sudden and terrible. His gasping inhales had stopped pretty much entirely, and instead there was nothing. Steve was barely breathing at all.

The light stroke of fingers along his back brought him back to the world of the Byers living room. He could feel Joyce’s eyes, but didn’t dare look over at her.

It was all such bullshit, after all this time. He was still bullshit.

“That’s why Billy said to come here?” She broke the quiet, and Steve gave a stiff nod.

“Yup. I wanna tell him everything, but…”  _ he’d never believe me _ , he thought.

“I think you could give him a little more credit– Billy’s a part of this family now. We can talk to him together, if you want.” He wasn’t sure where the cigarette in her hand appeared from, but she was lighting up when Steve finally had the guts to turn his head to her.

She smiled softly. Like a real mom.

“You’re not alone, Steve. Not anymore, okay? You’ve just got some nerves, you’re like me. I’ve had it my whole life, too… how do you feel about brownies?”

He didn’t think he heard her right, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

“‘The Party’ are staging a campaign here tonight– I’m making brownies for their 'travels’. It’s just a box mix, but I’d mess up anything else.” She took a drag and gave him a self deprecating smile that made Steve feel warm inside “Help me crack some eggs and we’ll talk about all this, if you want.”

He nodded a little more enthusiastically than she anticipated, and her grin wrinkled around her eyes. She was a wonderful woman.

“Box mix is the best kind, so no need to beat yourself up for that.” He smiled back. She still gripped his hand as she stood from the sofa and guided him along to the warm little kitchen.

She grabbed him a beer and he grabbed the biggest mixing bowl, and Steve felt lighter than he had in a long time.


	39. Boromir, not Obi Wan

It’s a Friday Night Dinner, and Will is acting funny. The whole Party is as well– shooting looks at the quiet boy, having intense eye-contact conversations over their chicken fingers– and Joyce is practically chain-smoking in her anxiety. Something happened at school that day, and everyone’s on edge. 

Will had told Billy that he was gay nearly a month ago. He’d told the rest of them shortly after. 

The blonde had a pit of dread carving its way into his chest when he sat himself on the porch step, cigarette already between his lips and ready for a light. He waited for Will Byers, taking measured drags of the smoke as the minutes ticked by. He knew he’d come and sit next to him soon– it had become a part of the Friday routine, and to be honest, Billy didn’t hate it. He liked Will, and it got him some points with the rest of the twerps that Will liked Billy back.   

He was expecting  _one_ kid, though, not  _six_. 

Usually, Will would come out and sit next to him on the step, talk about his day and ask Billy a couple questions– anything about the scene, queer culture, sometimes he even asked about Billy’s friends back in San Diego. He was soft spoken and kind. 

Dustin Henderson, however, was  _not_ soft spoken, and neither was Max, or Mike Wheeler, or Lucas Sinclair. All of them had come out of the house, surrounding Will on all sides on the porch as he sat next to Billy that night. Even Jane was there, wide eyed and silent. 

“We wanted to ask for your help.” Max says, breaking the tense silence, her arms crossed and lips pursed. 

“There’re these guys– the Zimmerman brothers– and they threatened me again yesterday….” Will muttered, wringing his hands in his lap. 

Billy keeps a carefully neutral expression, but takes a much more aggressive pull on his cigarette than before. 

“We need an Obi Wan to teach us how to kick some ass.” Henderson piped up. 

That’s how it starts. 

Billy only has one condition: “I’m Boromir– not Obi Wan. Capice?”

Every Friday before dinner, he’d take the gaggle of twerps out onto the lawn and teach them something new. He started with basic boxing and wrestling techniques. Then, he started bribing Steve with blowjobs to come out and demonstrate different self defense maneuvers with him. Nancy and Jonathan got in on the lessons, too, when the Party got good enough to advance up to escaping groups of assailants that the little hobbits couldn’t (or  _shouldn’t_ , in Jane’s case) take on by themselves.

By the time the snow started to fly, Max had a meaner right hook that Billy himself, Will was agile enough to escape up to five aggressors, and Billy was now acutely aware that Jane Hopper was stronger than she looked. 

Even Henderson could take someone on and win, if he tried. 

By Christmas, Billy felt different around the Party. He was trusted. Even Lucas and Dustin were less skeptical of him. Max was like an actual sibling. Jane always seemed to know when he’d been having a hard time with Neil, and Mike wasn’t scared of him anymore. 

Billy knew that because the kid was a totally sarcastic asshole now that he wasn’t worried that Billy would beat the shit out of him for it. 

The biggest change was in Will Byers, though. He walked taller and looked stronger, like someone who could take care of himself. He and Billy would sit on the porch step, bundled in their winter coats. Will still talked about the fear and the threats, but, he didn’t seem as scared– not anymore. That was what Billy was really proud of. 


	40. Billy's SAT Scores

Fridays had a routine.

After the summer had passed and school started up again, Mrs. Byers picked up more shifts at Melvards.

This used to mean that Steve would pick up the kids (except Will and Mike or whatever, who went with Jonathan and Princess Wheeler). Billy and Max would stop home to check in with Neil and Susan before heading over to the Byers house to join everyone.

By the time they got there dinner was in the oven and the twerps were waiting on Max to start their stupid game or campaign. Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan were usually having a beer with Joyce and the Chief in the kitchen. Steve always went overboard, kissing him senseless and tugging him close. Billy pretended that he couldn’t feel Steve’s hands and everyone else’s eyes scanning over him for injuries. That was how it had been since he’d had the bad fucking judgment to show up after that fight with Neil.

At least he got to kiss Steve without anyone getting weird about it. He let them think they were tricking him as long as it kept them from mentioning it.

It was a good routine, and it wasn’t  _ too _ changed now– but between Mrs. Byers’s extra shifts and Steve not being able to chauffeur anymore (that’s what happens when you graduate and take a job with your dad), certain new jobs fell to certain new people.

On Fridays (and some other days, if Joyce turned those wide brown eyes on him–he had a weakness for soft doe eyes like that), Billy became the new Steve, piling all those little brats into the back of his camaro and spending actual time with Jonathan and Nancy  _ fucking  _ Wheeler until the real grown ups got out of work.

He was the new  _ babysitter _ . It made his skin crawl.

But it also made him feel a warmth that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

This Friday, though, things were different. His English teacher, Ms. Braunschweiger (that was actually her name), kept him back after 9th period.

She wanted to talk about starting his _college_ _essay_ , and _early admissions_ , and his fucking _SATs_. He’d forgotten he’d even taken those. Apparently, though, he’d done pretty well.

_ Very _ well.

“Nearly perfect”, she’d said with an air of absolute disbelief even though he was one of her best students. He had resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

It made him late to get out to the Camaro, where his group of gangly freshman were thoroughly unamused.

“Where the Hell have you been?” Piped up Henderson (the only one who hadn’t really accepted him yet). Billy swallowed his sudden wave of irritation, ignoring him to instead tell Max to “get her scrawny ass off the hood of his car.”

Unless you’re Steve Harrington, you do  _ not _ have permission to sit on the hood of Billy’s baby.

That was much more important.

By the time they reached the little house, it was forgotten by everyone but him. The kids chattered on and on about some stupid science project while Billy took a long drag on his second cigarette of the evening. He tried not to think about it. He didn’t want to think about anything but seeing Steve and Joyce and that cute little El girl.

It would sound lame and totally ruin what was left of his reputation if he said it out loud, but these dinners were the highlight of his week.

Jonathan and Princess were already there, putting the dinner Joyce had prepped before work into the oven to cook. Will and Mike were playing on that Atari thing, quickly mobbed by Henderson (and the other two, but Henderson was the loudest, as usual) to brainstorm about their stupid science project.

He liked Jonathan Byers. He was quiet, and one of the most accepting of Billy and Steve from the get-go. He had a way of just knowing things– like when you were having a bad day, or when your dad had put the fear of God into you before dinner or school or anything– and it used to freak Billy out. He used to hate that a complete stranger somehow could figure out his secrets.

That was back when Billy had more to hide from these people. Being gay, being with Steve, his asshole dad– they knew all that stuff now. It didn’t bother Billy as much anymore.

Except that friday, when he looked over at the guy and immediately he knew something was wrong.

Well, nothing was really  _ wrong _ , per se. But there was a tightness in his chest and every muscle he had felt tense, and he couldn’t believe that he was going to have to think about  _ college _ .

“You okay, man?” He said, handing him a beer as he came in from finishing his third cigarette.

It wasn’t really a lie when Billy just nodded and thanked him for the beer. It just kinda felt like one.

Nancy raised an eyebrow at him, almost looking concerned, and Billy felt a rush of annoyance. Jonathan had the good grace to change the subject. He just didn’t want another fight (which was Nancy and Billy’s primary form of communication).

3:58. Joyce would be home soon. Another whole hour until Steve and Hopper and El got there.

By the time Steve had finally arrived, dinner was ready and everyone was starving. He walked in the door and beelined for Billy, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him soundly, as usual.

It was the first time Billy had felt completely calm all day. He melted into it, forgetting everything and everyone else, twining his fingers into Steve’s thick hair with the hand that wasn’t full of forks (he had been setting the table before). Steve’s hands made their way up and down his back and torso, and Billy let him. When steve did it, the daily injury check was comforting instead of patronizing.

“I missed you” the brunette smiled against his lips.

“It’s only been a day…” Billy replied as if he hadn’t also been thinking about this every minute since he’d last seen Steve.

He squeezed Billy’s hips in his hands “Fuckin’  _ torture _ , Babe–”

“Hey!” Dustin pulled them out of their moment “Quit pawing each other, it’s time to eat.”

Billy wasn’t sure when all of these people stopped being complete pains in his ass and started being endearing, but as they finally sat down to eat, he found himself pretty comfortable. Steve sat on his right, absently playing with his fingers when he wasn’t cutting food, and the conversation started to flow.

Mostly dominated by this stupid science project that the kids were still so excited about.

“… and then we just need to find the right sequence for the circuit board!” Mike was saying.

“Mr. Clarke can’t help us with circuitry, though!” Dustin argued back, gesticulating wildly with his fork.

“We can just ask Billy for help.”

Wait  _ what _ ?

Everyone seemed to put down their forks and stare over at Max, Billy especially.

“What?” He said dumbly.

Dustin actually scoffed. Max was grinning in this smug little way, and if this was some sort of joke, then she was  _ dead _ .

“You’d help us with our science project, right?” She reiterated. Billy was still completely lost.

“D'you… do you need to beat somebody up for your science project, Max?” He deadpanned, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

Steve squeezed his hand.

Max rolled her eyes “Your SAT score, asshole! Not everybody has a  _ genius _ for a brother.”

Oh, not the SATs again. His skin itched uncomfortably as everyone around the table started to talk.

“You got your scores back?” Nancy questioned, clearly thinking about when she’d get her own.

“Max, you went through my trash?–”

“I did not! I saw the letter when Neil opened it! He even smiled!” Max cut in again.

“I don’t give a  _ shit _ what  _ he _ thinks,  _ Maxine _ !” He snapped, and he didn’t mean to raise his voice, he really didn’t. His fists clenched on top of the tablecloth and his fingers itched for another cigarette.

It was silent.

Everyone was looking at him. Max was getting all huffy, and the confusion of why Billy didn’t want to share such good news permeated the air around him. Joyce caught his eye and gave him a little smile that was supposed to be encouraging.

Steve squeezed his hand again, and Billy looked over at him. His brown eyes were big and round and a ghost of a smile played on his face.

“What’d you get, babe?”

Maybe it was his weakness for soft brown eyes, maybe it was a latent pride in his academic achievement– he just wanted to talk about _something_ _else_.

“ _ 1598 _ . Happy?” He begrudgingly let Steve massage his hand out of its fist, glaring down at his lap instead of looking at any of the people around him.

“ _ Billy _ , that’s fucking  _ incredible _ .” Steve breathed.

“Is it such a bad thing for people who care about you to be proud of you?” Max grumbled while everyone else took in the news.

“How the Hell did you even do that?” Henderson piped up.

Hopper let out a whistle, and Princess Wheeler even sent a genuine “congratulations” his way.

_ Is it such a bad thing for people who care about you to be proud of you _ ?

Honestly, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. He rarely, if ever, let himself dream about college campuses or diplomas. He didn’t even know if he liked anything enough to go to college for it. And then there was the issue of money.

Billy never put his all into school because he enjoyed it. He feverishly studied and only skipped class when he absolutely knew he could get away with it, because a good report card was a way to live another day without getting the shit kicked out of him.

He was good at school because he had to be. Every good grade was expected, not praised.

Every A and A+ felt a little more cowardly.

“We’re so proud of you, Billy.” Joyce brought him back to the table, reaching out in an aborted little gesture of comfort. It felt so real and kind that Billy was sure he blushed.

He cleared his throat “Thanks..” he said under his breath. There was warmth blooming in his gut, and his fingers tingled a little where Steve had started fidgeting with them again.

The praise felt good. Like he’d done something worth being proud of.

“So, what’s that circuit thing that you guys need?”

Max beamed at him, Will and Lucas did what they obviously  _ tried _ to make a discreet high five, and even Henderson smiled a little.

 


	41. Drop Me on the Steps of the FDA

“Hey— Mail for you.” Max had said. Billy hadn’t thought for a second what it could be until he had it in his hands.

He froze.

“What is it?” Max asked. Billy couldn’t find the words to answer.

He knew things had been going too well. Steve, The Dinners, even the stupid kids were starting to trust him. Neil was out of town more often for work, driving back and forth from Chicago to Indianapolis to Hawkins and yeah, it made him a tightly wound son of a bitch when he came home. Billy would never admit it, but he was _scared_ when his dad came home. His pulse would race, his words would get jumbled up from his brain to his mouth— but _life_ was _better_.

Things were good. And then the letter arrived.

Billy had sent a letter home to The Angle when he found out they were moving from San Francisco to Hawkins. He told the girls what was happening, gave them the new address and said to NOT contact him unless they had to.

If Neil found out about Billy’s friends, it would be an absolute shitshow. He had never found out where his son used to go after school all that time ago— back in San Diego, back when Mom was alive. Better that he think his 12 year old son was going to a friend’s house, the beach, a fucking drug den, or _anywhere_ but a drag club.

Billy had tried to cut ties with Crystal (Hughie) and Rosetta (Ricardo) and Tiff (Paul) when Neil and Susan got married. When he was too angry to write, too angry to _breathe_. After the shit hit the fan in San Francisco, though, Billy needed his girls. He missed home— he’d discovered who he was while watching Ricky put on his makeup to become Rosetta. He’d learned what it was to be a part of a community. He had three “Drag moms” to teach him that his sexuality was nothing to fear.

After Danny was killed, when they first moved to Hawkins, Billy tried to be normal. He forced down the grief and the terror and the queerness inside him.

Steve had changed everything.

And now he was holding a letter in his hands that made his blood feel cold.

“Billy? Earth to Billy Hargrove!”

Max was still there. He rolled his eyes, fighting the anxiety that clawed up his throat, just trying to get the little shit to leave him alone. He couldn’t explain this. She had no idea who he was beyond who he was to Steve.

She didn’t know shit.

“You don’t know shit, Maxine— _get_ _out_.” He tried to growl, to scare her out of his room like he used to, but it sounded dazed. His voice shook like a fucking pussy.

“Jesus, _rude_.” She crossed her arms, not moving. Billy fixed her with a withering glare— she looked actively bored with the scare tactics, but he knew she was worried about him when she left.

She better not tell all her little twerp friends.

He opened the letter with shaking fingers, recognizing the familiar penmanship of Ricky spelling out Billy’s name.

He read it three times, heart sinking lower, crushed under a new weight of fear and anger and loss. He was numb and shaking when he crumbled it up and dropped it in the wastepaper bin and grabbed the keys to the camaro.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve was just pulling into his driveway when Billy careened into Loch Nora and pulled up beside him.

“Hey— what?” He said, smile melting away at the blonde’s wild expression “What’s wrong?”

He guided Billy to the front door and ushered him into his house as quickly as he could manage. Billy just shook his head, curling his fingers into the other boy’s shirt in the foyer. Like he was the only thing to hold onto.

“Baby… okay.. you’re okay, I…” he stumbled a little around the words, always a little awkward, but he held him like Billy needed him to. “I don’t know what to do?”

It was phrased as a question and Billy would usually laugh at Steve for something dorky like that, but he was thinking the same thing.

What were they supposed to do? What would he do if something happened to Steve?

He smelled the fancy laundry detergent and hair spray— the smell of _Steve_ all around him. The idea of losing him felt like physical pain.

He buried his face in the soft skin of the other boy’s neck and let the wave of grief rip through him. Steve held him while he sobbed, his body trembling with the force of it.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time he caught his breath, but Steve had somehow maneuvered the both of them into the kitchen. He was leaned against the counter, looking shellshocked. His big brown eyes scanned all of Billy, searching for the evidence of a beating that, for once, wasn’t there.

Steve wordlessly pushed a glass of water into Billy’s sweaty hand. His eyes were hot and felt swollen, and a swirling pit of shame opened itself up in his chest. It had been a long time since he felt shame in front of Steve Harrington, but he couldn’t look the other boy in his wide eyes.

“Billy?” He finally broke the quiet of the Harrington kitchen “What _happened_?”

“I got a letter.” He rasped “From some friends back home, and…”

When he blinked he could still see the carefully written words in his mind’s eye: “ _Paul’s gone. That makes seven people from the club, all dead just this year. This goddamn disease took our friend last night. I’m so sorry, Billy Boy— we put your name on some flowers for him. He loved you. We all love you. Stay away from needles, be careful who you fuck, don’t share drinks. Tus mamas están muy orgullosas de ti. Mantenerse a salvo. Todos te amamos mucho.”_

“My… my friend is _dead_ .” He finally spat out, the tears welling up again and he fucking hated it. He hated all of it. “Goddamn AIDS, goddamn Reagan, goddamn— _Goddamnit, Steve_! I…” his chest heaved with the force of his desperate breaths, and there was the sound of shattering glass as he dropped his water.

Steve leapt into action. He pulled Billy away from the mess on the tile floor, tugging him close again. It felt so safe. So fucking _safe_ . Billy didn’t know what to do because he’d lost seven friends in the past year, and _nothing_ was safe anymore. Not home, not his family, not his friends.

Nothing but Steve Harrington. Billy squeezed him tight and begged to God that Steve wouldn’t ever be hurt. That he wouldn’t be ravaged by disease, that no one would hitch him to the back of their fucking truck, that no one would beat him to death for who he was.

He begged for a miracle.

But, if they were _so careful_ — maybe they could make a little world that’s safe.

“Let’s go to Indianapolis.” Billy said, gaining his composure and clearing his throat. He looked up at those big doe eyes and saw the questions there before Steve even said a word.

“Whu-“

“There’s a free clinic there. Just to be safe, we should- we should get checked.”

Another hundred questions passed through the brunette’s pretty face, and Billy just focused on breathing.

He wanted a cigarette or ten.

“Just to be safe, Pretty Boy— how about a road trip?”

Steve swallowed hard around the anxiety that constantly plagued him. There was no way that either of them had… It was just to be safe.

Steve nodded with a jerk of his head that made his hair flop endearingly. “O-Okay, that’s.. Let’s go, Baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translation: Your mamas are very proud of you. Stay safe. We all love you very much. 
> 
> IF MY SPANISH IS WRONG, TELL ME HOW TO FIX IT. I did my best.


	42. Hopper's POV

Before that week’s dinner, Joyce and Jim talk. Joyce and Jim do a lot of things, but in this instance it’s the talking.

Steve finally convinced his boyfriend to come to dinner that weekend.

Joyce fidgets excitedly and Jim is able to keep the part of him at bay that still thinks of  _ boyfriend _ with some kind of derision. He’s keeping an open mind, damnit. Somewhere along the way, he ended up caring about the Harrington kid as much as he did all the others around their weekly dinner table.

So, he resolves to accept this new kid as much as he accepted Harrington.

And then, when Billy walks in the door, there’s immediate animosity between him and the kids– especially Henderson, who’s practically jumping at the guy. Jonathan fills Jim in that Billy has a bit of a rep at school.

Nancy watches closely, intensely protective of Steve. She’s not as vocal as Dustin or Mike, but she watches like a hawk and Jim just knows that he wouldn’t want to be on the end of that stare.

Billy just stares right back, unwavering and challenging, like he’s taunting her. He switches back and forth for that first night, between standing close to Steve (when Nancy or the kids were around) and being stupidly charming and putting on an act for Joyce and Jim and El.

Joyce and El are the ones that welcome him with open arms. Jim metaphorically joins them, but keeps his arms to himself, thank you very much. He’s getting better at expressing his affection, but not  _ that  _ much.

It takes a few weeks for Billy to start acting like a real person.

For how loud his look is, Billy is pretty quiet. During dinner, he only speaks when spoken to. After dinner, he and Jim sit in silence on the porch with their cigarettes.

The first time Billy flinches from him, Jim writes it off as a reaction to getting caught holding Steve’s hand under the table. He and Joyce make sure to take them aside and let them know that if Jonathan and Nancy can do it, they can do it too. This is a safe space.

Once upon a time, Jim would’ve scoffed at that, but hey– monsters are real. There are alternate universes. There are things out there way more harmful and outlandish then a couple of boys that make each other happy. Who were they hurting? Jim was willing to swallow his pride and let them have their space to just be  _ normal _ .

Steve’s smile was enough to make it worth it. Billy’s look of disbelief was even better, especially when it was followed by him not letting go of Harrington a single time that night.

Things went back to normal, and the silence while they smoked every week got more companionable– sometimes they even chatted a little. Jim and just about everybody else forgot about that first flinch.

Until they were out on the porch, fishing out their cigs to spark up, and Hopper reached over to offer Billy a light.

The kid nearly jumped out of his skin.

After that, Hopper starts keeping track of every time Billy Hargrove backs away or flinches.

One time, Dustin smacks a hand down on the table while emphatically telling a story and Jim watched Billy silently tremble and try to collect himself for a full fifteen minutes. No one else notices except for Steve, who runs his thumb over Billy’s (nearly perpetually bruised) knuckles until long after he’d come down.

He only hears about Neil a couple of times, completely in passing and usually from Max instead of Billy.

Billy continues to maintain just the slightest discomfort around Jim. No one else sees it, nobody notices at all until it finally comes out a couple months in.

“Oh honey, what’s that?” Joyce said, catching Jim’s attention while Billy and Steve helped her clean the kitchen.

There was a bruise covering the blonde’s wrist– his long sleeves rolled up from washing dishes. It looked like a hand, and Jim knew this wasn’t from just _some_ _fight,_ like Billy tried to explain it away as, pulling his arm too quickly out of her grip.

It was Steve’s face, his wide brown eyes and absent fidget when Joyce spoke, that really made Jim think.

Time passed. Jim watched, cataloging the bruises, the cuts, the busted knuckles (“heh, you should see the other guy” Billy had deflected with a wolf’s grin that anyone could see through but few bothered to look past).

It took months before he realized that Billy wasn’t scared of him because he was nervous about his sexuality or jumpy around cops. He wasn’t even really seeing Jim when he flinched or shuddered or discreetly backed away.

He liked Jim fine enough, but there was something deeper than that. There was something in his brain that fired off on instinct when a tall man like Hopper (looking vaguely like Neil) put out a hand toward him.

He tries to get the kid talking, but that explodes in his face. Billy doesn’t show up at dinner for a week, and Steve keeps shooting him looks.

He starts needling Max for information. He talks to Joyce and Steve (who clearly knows  _ something _ ), but El is the one who cracks it wide open with her quiet insight. She’s sees it too. She’s been seeing it all along.

When he finally meets Neil Hargrove– arresting the bastard, while the paramedics load Billy into an ambulance– he sees the slight resemblance between them. He’s tall, dark hair, facial hair. They’re about the same height with slightly different builds, but it’s enough.

Billy had been scared of him all this time because he saw his dad every damn time someone lifted a hand near his face.

Maybe he’s a little rough while he books Neil, but he’s too busy to worry about it. He’s thinking about the ways that he can make sure Neil stays in that cell and away from his son.


	43. The Waiting Room

This wasn’t the way he thought this type of dream would be. If someone had ever told him that he would go to heaven or whatever type of afterlife there was, Billy would have visualized bright white light, warmth, some type of stupid pearly gate and a guy with a sick sense of humor at the door.

He never would have thought that he would be in his childhood home. Empty, with San Diego sunshine spilling in through the half closed curtains. It was still a little hazy and smoky from his mom’s cigarettes, and the beer bottle she’d hit him with was still shattered on the wood floor by the kitchen threshold.

This had hardly ever been “heaven”. At the best of times, it was barely a solace. At the worst of times, it was a battleground.

There had been so many days that he thought someone was going to fucking die, the screaming was so loud. Neil was bellowing after Mom, Mom shrieked back, shoving little Billy into his room and slamming the door.

He had tried to cover his ears. Especially when things started getting thrown around. When there was a dull slap of hands hitting flesh, no matter who was hitting who.

He wandered out a few times, if only to provide a distraction away from his mom, if not to make them stop,  _ please stop _ .

Neil would smack him around for talking back. Once, even Mom hurt him– didn’t aim a bottle right, and sent it flying right into Billy’s head.

Mom was different than other moms, he’d realized that pretty early on. Most moms went to their kids little league games and took them to the playground or the beach on the weekends.

He had asked once, and Mom had said she was  _ special _ . That some days she felt broken, and needed new batteries. And some days she was fun, she was high energy, like someone had slapped a jet pack to her and let her fly away.

He realized now, that something had been wrong with her. She was sick.

He hated Neil, but Mom was more complicated, he thought, staring at the only closed door in the ghost of his house– the spare room. It had never been anything, really. At one point, it was going to be a nursery, but that never happened like it was supposed to.

Billy hated that fucking room.

What the hell was he doing here anyway?

“Hello!! Anybody out there?!?” He bellowed into the tiny bungalow, half expecting Neil to pop out.

But it was silent for a long few minutes. Just him and the tick of the clock.

“ _ Billy, hon? Is that you _ ?”

The soft voice muffled behind the door to the spare fucking room (of course), sent ice through his veins, and Billy didn’t dare respond.

“ _ C'mere, Silly Billy. Let me look at you _ .”

She sounded just the same, so warm and kind, the only source of love in the hell of this house for all of his childhood. Until suddenly, she was gone.

A longing for something,  _ someone _ , that he had nearly forgotten tugged at his heart and he moved to the door like a zombie.

The knob was warm, and he braced himself to see what he had seen the last time he found his mother in here. The blood, the stench of gun smoke, the note on the floor next to her limp hand–

But she wasn’t. She was sitting in a moat of light on the far side of the room, under the window. Wearing her favorite Zeppelin tshirt and a worn out pair of jeans. Her blonde hair was bushy and wild and caught the sun in it like a halo.

Warmth, bright light, halos…

“Am I dead?” He croaked, his voice barely more than choked air.

“ _ Look  _ at  _ you _ .” She beamed, and his vision blurred as he looked at her smiling at him. “You’re such a man now. I think you look like me– when you were little people told me you looked like Neil all the time. Even my own mother!” She prattled on, and patted the seat next to her in the sun. “It’s a good thing you grew out of that, another Neil running around would be a real shame.”

He found himself sitting down beside the woman, his mom–his real, beautiful, dead mom. He had forgotten that he had even asked a question.

“Where are we?” He said, fiddling with his pendant and seeing the same one on her chest. She put her little hand over his and it was warm, so warm and soft and he felt some sort of current go through him when they touched. Not like with Steve, obviously, but it still felt like love. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d touched when she was alive.

“The crossroads. The waiting room. Purgatory. Whatever you want to call it, I guess.” She shrugged, but her face looked sympathetic. She held out a cigarette to him, tucking her own between her lips. He hadn’t realized how much he needed a smoke until right then, the anxiety making his heart jump.

He took it with muttered thanks, and she lit them both up.

“So, I’m dead?” He asked again. She just looked at him with her own sparkling blue eyes.

“That’s up to you.”

The first drag into his lungs felt so grounding and normal that he could have been anywhere. He could have been chatting with Steve while making breakfast or helping Mrs. Byers clean up after dinner– not casually reuniting with his mother in a dream memory of his shitty childhood home.

She watched him smoke with a soft look on her face. They smoked more than half their cigarettes in silence, just basking in the California sun and letting her hold his hand over his chest. He had missed her. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you… I’m so proud, Billy.”

The intake of breath that he took then felt like the gasp of a drowning man, a deluge of feelings washing over him. His mom wrapped him up in her wiry little arms, held him close, and she smelled just like she always had. Seaspray and cigarettes and rose water.

He had missed her. So much. It ached in his chest and, for that moment, he didn’t want to ever leave.

“W-why?” Really though, why? His lips tripped over the words, his brain was overloaded with all of the times that he’d failed, been weak, where he had hurt the people he had grown to love. His life had been nothing but shame for so long.

Billy had grown up a mama’s boy. It wasn’t hard to do when your dad was Neil Hargrove, and Mom became a solace in a near-constant storm. Whenever he cried, had a nightmare, was lonely or confused, he could sit with her and just be held. It was the most simple, most calming thing, to be held in the arms of your mother.

Even on her worst days, when she barely even had the energy to lift her arms around him, he felt safe by her side.

And then she hit him with that bottle. And then she didn’t leave that stupid spare room for a week, had the worst episode she’d ever had. And then she was dead. And then Billy got to spend all of the past four years since her blowing her fucking brains out wondering why.  _ Why why why _ .

He had always figured that she would have stuck around if he had been worth sticking around for.

And now, she was proud?

“It’s been so hard, Baby, watching you grow up and not being able to…”  _ help _ .  _ Protect you _ .  _ Be your mother _ . It was unspoken, but they both knew what she meant. They both knew how hard it had gotten after she checked herself out.

She’d been watching over him. She’d seen everything Neil had done.

Something cold and angry gripped at his chest, and he scoffed.

“Yeah, it was hard living it, too.” He quipped, harsh and biting, his heartbreak mixing with vitriol. Her grip tightened on his hand, but he couldn’t look at her, not with the hot tears blurring his vision.

“Baby–”

“You know he got remarried? You’d barely been in the ground a full year, and he was suddenly marrying  _ Susan  _ from fucking  _ San Francisco _ .”

“Yes, I did–”

“Did you? Huh. So you also know about that social worker?  _ Darby _ ? She showed up after you died, came in like she was gonna save me from Neil and I’d be safe and all this shit…” he took a drag on the last of his cig, tears still streaming and he wanted to fucking hit something “So you know how hard that bastard beat me when he found out about it?”

“Baby,  _ Baby _ –”

“ _ Don’t  _ call me that.” It sounded too much like Steve. That was what Steve called him– she had no right to that word anymore.

What was Steve doing now?

Where the hell was Billy? Would he ever see his pretty boy again?

The two of them were quiet then, Billy having dissolved into ragged sobs against his mother’s chest, sitting wrapped around each other in the warm moat of light, feeling the tension slowly come down from fever pitch. Billy counted the specks of dust floating around them and considered the things he was losing if he really was dead.

There was Steve Harrington, obviously. And, until recently, the list probably would have ended there. He never would have thought that there would be Max, or Dustin and Lucas, Steve’s fucking  _ ex girlfriend _ , Nancy– the Byers and the Hoppers.

He had a home back there, and maybe he still had trouble believing that it was all real, and they all actually wanted Billy around… but he cared about those twerps and his… people. His family.

He couldn’t imagine leaving them behind now. Not now.

“Mom, I made a promise–”

“To not be like your father.” She finished for him, smiling. “I know, Silly Billy… you made your boyfriend a very brave promise, and I’m so proud of how you’ve turned yourself around.” She brushed his blonde curls away from his face, and it felt so real and gentle. He would have cried if there had been any tears left. “Your Steve, he’s good for you. What a sweetheart–”

“You know? That I’m… queer?” He still said it like it was some kind of secret. He was still ashamed, Neil had made sure of that. But his mother, his Catholic-raised, maniac mom knew, and…

“Of course I know, I’m your mom. Moms just know this sort of thing.” She winked “He’s very cute.”

_ Yeah, he is _ , Billy thought, remembering those big Bambi eyes.

His chest was tight and he didn’t want to be dead. He had to live, get back to Steve– there was still so much more to do.

They lapsed into silence again, and the sun in the dream hadn’t moved for a second, still warm and beating down on the two of them. She stroked his hair and rubbed his back, both lighting up new cigarettes. He felt so small.

“Billy, you have a choice here.” The way her voice cracked made him look up. Tears tracked silently down her pretty face. “I knew the second I pulled that trigger that I’d made a mistake. I just, I just knew you’d be worse off, but… don’t be like me, Baby. You need to get back to Steve.”

“You can’t come back with me, can you?”

She let out a wet little laugh as she shook her head, grinning at him and running a hand down his cheek “I love you, Silly Billy… I’m always with you.”

“I-I love you, Mom. I-” he couldn’t get the words out as more than a croak. There was a light coming from under the door, brighter and hotter than the sunshine of the dream. He didn’t want to leave her again.

But he couldn’t leave Steve the way she had left him.

* * *

 

“Hey kid.. you gotta get some rest at some point.”

“What if… what he wakes up while I’m gone?” Steve rasped. Hopper put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, looking at Joyce’s wide brown eyes from across the little hospital room.

“We’re all gonna be here, Steve. He’s never alone.” Joyce tried to reassure, but they all knew it was no use.

It had been three full days since Max’s frantic phone call to Hopper– Neil and Billy were fighting again. Billy had been smacked to the ground, he might have hit his head, and he was  _ not moving _ .

Hopper got the ambulance. He got testimonies from Susan and Max, he finally got the satisfaction of arresting Neil fucking Hargrove.

But Billy still hadn’t woken up.

And Steve hadn’t slept a wink since. Hadn’t even left the room, let alone the building. He had fought with the nurses, pissed off just about every doctor on the floor, and was bouncing off the walls with anxiety.

“I need to be here.” He said, holding Billy’s bruised, limp hand in both of his like he was willing life back into him.

He was perched at the edge of the bed, fidgeting and brushing his fingers through the blonde curls.

And then he  _ felt  _ it– he knew he did, it was real, it really was– when Billy’s fingers moved just a little to grip his hand.

“Billy?” His voice cracked, hope strangling his lungs. “He just, he just moved his hand, I- I felt it!”

“Steve, you haven’t slept in days,” Nancy gently reminded him–

Just in time for Billy to start coughing, sputtering around the tube shoved down his throat and squeezing the Hell out of Steve’s hand while he did.

The light came rushing back to Steve’s eyes, and he beamed as he looked down at the blonde. Dustin was off like a shot down the hall, berating some nurse for not getting a doctor fast enough– “He’s awake! The asshole in room 237 is awake and he needs a doctor, lady!”

They went through damn near a thousand tests, a herd of nurses and doctors passing through to prod Billy, monitoring his progress. When they were finally let back in, Steve held him so tight that he might die of suffocation instead of swelling.

Billy just squeezed him right back, feeling the weight of his pendant pressed between the two of them, right over Billy’s heart.


	44. White Christmas

In my mind, Billy is from Southern California– San Diego area– and him, Neil and his mom didn’t do much together “as a family” when Billy was young and his mom was alive. They were broken from the start, and there were definitely no road trips, especially to anywhere with snow. The furthest he ever went from home were walks down to the beach with his mom (once he moves to Hawkins, probably being landlocked is what he hates most. He’s always felt trapped by his life, now even by the land around him.).

Even when they move to San Francisco for their “new family” (Susan and Max), I don’t think Billy would have encountered more than a flurry of snow. BUT the crazy wind and weather of the Bay Area is more than enough to teach him how much he hates the cold.

Anything below 60 degrees makes Billy a whiny, irritable asshole. So, moving to Indiana in the fall and being thrown into the first real winter of his life only made him hate everything more. It isn’t until he and Steve get together and he finds a real family with the gang™ that he finds any type of appreciation for snow and the cold.

It’s his second holiday season in Hawkins, and it was during a normal Friday dinner at the Byers that the kids found out that Steve’s parents were going to Vail without him until mid January. Which leads to a huge Christmas dinner in which the Party hijacks the empty Harrington house– all the kids, Hopper and El, everybody. Mrs. Henderson helps Joyce and Jonathan in the kitchen, Nancy and Mike come by after dinner at their grandma’s house, even Susan comes by now that Neil is awaiting trial. Some people don’t really know what Billy and Steve are to each other, but no one seems to notice their intertwined fingers throughout the night.

There’s a certain harmony to it all, and when snow starts to come down outside the window that Christmas Eve, Billy feels warmer instead of colder. Steve sits beside him on the sofa, still warm and full from dinner and drinks and company even after most people have gone.

It’s not about the cold outside as much it is about how much more the warmth means with the people inside.

 


End file.
